A Tale of Wands, Swords, and Magic
by thewhisperingwillowtree
Summary: [HIATUS] What would happen if the setting of Harry Potter was in a whole different world? HP/GoT Crossover. A bit of a dystopic HP in the GoT setting with both HP and GoT elements. Rated M.
1. Chapter 1: The Letter of Beginnings

I've decided to partake in my first writing challege and crossover, one issued by joe63129. It's his fourth prompt in the HP ASOIAF category. This story will be a bit of a writing exercise for me more than anything, meant to push and expand the boundaries of my writing. None of these characters are exactly like the one in Harry Potter or Game of Thrones. Some of them changed because they have different family members, and are placed in different circumstances than before. They also have some of the traits of their last names. Some are older and some are younger. Some characters that I didn't know much about became like their parallel character in GoT, so none of these are exact replicas of character's and this is a very AU story. If any of this is not to your taste than it is best that you not read this. On a side note, I wonder how long it will take for people to figure out which HP character fulfills the GoT character haha

Rules:

\- The great families are powerful and ancient wizard families across the world and their castles are school's run by the families

\- Dumbledore calls a meeting to tell them about Voldemort and how he is gathering followers for a war

\- Harry meets the head of many of the families at this meeting. Some believe Dumbledore and some do not. In order to get them on board they will want something that will benefit them.

\- One family demands a marriage contract with their oldest daughter. After the contract is agreed upon Harry's betroth attends his school and get to know each other before getting married. Mess with the ages to make them similar.

\- There is preferably something to battle against after the first war, as if it was only a prelude.

Disclaimer: The base characters and much of the created world belongs to JKR and GRRM.

* * *

Chapter 1: The Letter of Beginnings

* * *

The School of Winterfell, The North

* * *

Sirius Stark frowned down at the nondescript scroll in his hand. It wasn't the first time he had seen this name, and based on the fact that he had seen it every year for the past five years it undoubtedly would not be his last.

For the past five years this person had petitioned to get into The School of Wintefell. His family had run this school for generation upon generation, beginning with the first Stark: Godric the Builder.

Sirius could not understand the purpose of apply to be a student here. She was a Squib. The School of Winterfell had nothing to teach her.

He could not help the memories. Seeing this name brought him back sixteen years. His first son had been a Squib. Sirius had tried to hide it from the world. Squibs had been persecuted for all of time, their family names stripped and then bodily thrown out in the cold. If Sirius had not sent the boy past The Wall the nobles would have killed him. Sirius had not seen his first son since. His wife Emmeline never even mentioned him in passing.

As if he was never there.

It was how all the families treated Squibs. It was not their thinking that was wrong, it was his. Sirius had never been the most conventional thinker. His older brother Orion had often commented on it when he had been living.

Curiosity made Sirius want to admit the Squib. Perhaps she could help clean the school. It would be a good excuse as any.

And maybe she would know something about his lost son.

"Father!" One of his younger boys ran over to him, gripping onto his leg tightly. "Uncle Regulus is here! He's finally here! He brought books from the Wall!"

Sirius chuckled, ruffling Teddy's hair affectionately. "What kind of books?"

"Everything!" Teddy shouted, excitement clear by the brightness in his eyes. "Books that aren't even around anymore. There's even one on dragon's!"

"Then we'll have to sit down and read them all," Sirius suggest with a similar twinkle in his eyes. Sirius and Teddy nearly had the same shade of grey, Teddy's being a bit darker than his own. But that was where the similarities ended. Where Sirius had hair of midnight black, Teddy's was a medium brown. Sirius had high cheek bones, and Teddy's were quite average. The overall look was very much lackluster to his father's, who constantly had an air of casual elegance to him that people had no hope of copying.

"Cedric said last time Uncle Regulus came he promised to duel him to see how much Cedric improved! I can't miss it!"

Teddy squirmed out of his father's embrace, racing in the direction of the courtyard. Before he could disappear out of sight Sirius called out, "Ted?" The overly zealous boy skidded to a wobbly stop, staring back at his father with thinly veiled curiosity. "Make sure not to climb your way down. Your mother will be sure to have a heart attack if she catches you."

Teddy's smiled mischievously, clearly set on doing the exact opposite of what his father said. Sirius let him be for the moment. At least he could tell his wife that he tried.

Emmeline was already high strung with Regulus and Bill back from Castle Black. Bill had left to train at the Auror school at a young age, unable to take her scorn anymore. Regulus had gone for The Wall when both Sirius and Regulus had been young, shortly after the death of their sister and brother. It had been two years since Sirius had seen Bill. He would be almost a man now, filled with experience from protecting the realm. With Regulus there to mentor him Sirius had not worried. Auror training could be difficult, and protecting six schools tough, but Bill had it in him. Sirius believed in him.

His mind drifted to the three schools that did not partake in the services offered by the Aurors. As long as each school could help supply men for Auror training, the Auror's would continue to be there to protect them from what was outside of their walls. If they did not place such demands they would have less than half the working force they did now.

Targaryen was one of the school's that did not partake in the deal any longer. They were a shadow of their former selves, barely staying adrift. It would take a miracle for them to come back from what they had become. The Martells were too proud to accept help, and were isolated in the desert so did not need to fear to much about being attacked. Supervising the Greyjoys was a chance not even the Auror's would take. All of them were infected. The simplest of scratches had the ability to transform them into a beast of the night, as uncontrollable as a hellion.

The last place, which Sirius was unsure if they even had a school, was the Squib's. They lived beyond The Wall. The Auror's kept them in their banished, frozen wasteland. It was where Sirius's first son stayed. Sirius wondered if he was still alive, how he had turned out. Was he a good man? Was he anything like his Stark heritage?

Sirius feared he would never know, and perhaps it was better that way.

His one saving grace was that the Tullys, Emmeline's side of the family, had discovered they had a non-magical boy about the same time. They sent them together, and hopefully they stayed that way. Brothers. Like Sirius and James and the others had once been.

But it was best not to think on that subject. The past was buried in the past for a reason.

"Ginny! Stop being so rude!" Katie screeched, her pretty face turning a bright shade of red. "Apologize to Alicia!"

Ginny snarled, glaring at her older sister. "If Alicia wasn't so mean to Hermione I wouldn't say she looked like a hippogriff!"

Katie straightened her back and leveled a cool expression at her younger sister. "Hermione is a bastard. Alicia can say whatever she likes about her." Sirius's brows rose, and he knew he had Emmeline to thank for Katie having such a deep rooted hate for bastards. Sometimes Sirius thought Bill would have been better off in the hands of another family, someone will less animosity towards him.

But Bill was family. Even if the boy had suffered Sirius still felt overall it was the best option.

Sirius grabbed Ginny before she could lunge at her sister, her fingers curled and ready to dig into the soft skin of Katie's red tinged, porcelain face.

"Let me go! I want to beat her stupid face!" Ginny screeched, attempting to reach for her.

"You will do no such thing," Sirius answered firmly.

The voice behind the hands holding her gave Ginny pause. "Father?"

"You're such an animal Ginny," Katie hissed with disgust, folding her arms across her chest with disapproval.

"I'll show you an animal!" Ginny attempted to grab at her sister again, but Sirius remained firm.

"I'd hate to punish you both with both Regulus and Bill visiting," Sirius uttered in a mild tone, hoping it would have the effect he was aiming for on them.

Both stopped what they were doing, turning to him hopefully.

"Let me go!" Ginny said immediately, completely forgetting about her attempted attack on Katie. "I have to go down to see them!"

Sirius held Ginny back firmly until Katie disappeared from sight. He turned Ginny around to stare heavily into her eyes. "You are to be on your best behavior. Do you understand me?"

Ginny had a moment of defiance, a snarl formed on her lips and eyes mutinous, but sighed and reluctantly agreed. Sirius would have to head down to greet his guests too, but first to wrap up his paperwork.

He entered his office, hurrying to scribe an answer to the squib's fifth petition. When he finished he dipped his seal in the darkened, grey wax, pulling away once he was sure it would not fold into the creases because of the heat. The direwolf stared back at him, proud and regal. It was the symbol of their school, and had been since its creation almost eight thousand years ago. Satisfied, he began the trek down to the courtyard.

All of his family were in the courtyard once he made his way down there. Emmeline was fluttering back and forth, completely ignoring the bane of her existence Bill Snow. He appeared to prefer it that way, hovering in the shadows and making sure to keep away from her at all costs.

"How has the wall been treating you William?" Sirius asked, giving him a quick hug before turning to watch the cacophony of his family. At least the girls were getting along at the moment, too distracted by Regulus and his story telling. Cedric, his oldest recognized trueborn boy, sat on the fence next to Regulus grinning. Cedric was charismatic already at fifteen, something that would help him when the day came to take his inheritance from his father and run this school.

"Well," Bill answered softly. "It's colder than I thought it would be."

Sirius chuckled. "You're about done training, aren't you?"

"Just about," Bill agreed.

"Any of those fairy tales true?" Sirius joked, nudging the boy dressed in black beside him.

Bill's lips curved into a smile. "Just the ones about bloodthirsty Squibs. I've yet to see any giants or dragons beyond The Wall." The smile fell from his face, the corners of his eyes tense. "The Squibs are becoming crafty. They're creating things to fight the Auror's back with. So far we've managed to hold them at bay."

Sirius frowned, his lips in a tight, unpleased line. "Will more men help?"

Bill stared at his father, taking in the identical color of their eyes thoughtfully. "This is for you."

A scroll was shoved unceremoniously into the palm of Sirius's hand. He gripped it tightly, staring in confusion at the simply tied ribbon keeping it together. Official letters were always sealed. It made no sense that this one was not unless it was a threat or they wished to be unanimous. Or perhaps it was another petition to join the school from a different squib.

"It's from one of the Squib's, a girl named Lavendar with a bow the color of bone." He was close.

"A bow?"

"One of the new weapons that Squibs have created to fight against us. It's long-range, unlike anything I've ever seen."

Sirius let out a deep sigh, his stomach unsettled. This did not bode well. The School of Winterfell had always been the first defense if The Wall were to ever fall. Most the people in this school were children. The Reeds, Karstarks, Umbers, Pooles, and so many more had trusted him with their children. He could not let them down.

"She said it was from their leader. A man she called Lord Rayder."

Sirius's brows furrowed in confusion. Only the head of a school was called a Lord. If this man had saddled himself with such a title as Lord given to him by his people… this could not be good. The last war had only ended seven years ago. Some of the families still had not recuperated from it.

"She said this was specifically for you. Somehow she knew you were my father, despite having different last names." If they knew what Starks looked like it was not very surprising. Bill had both grey eyes and black hair, along with the handsomeness of his father. The biggest difference they had was the slightly darker skin tone which he had year round. His similar looks almost made him blend in with Sirius's trueborn children, something that pained Emmeline. "She also mentioned the other Lords would be getting a letter too."

Sirius released the undyed ribbon from its knot easily, unfurrowing the letter with a slight scowl. His face revealed nothing as he read, and when he finished he folded the letter neatly and placed it in one of his spare pockets. He watched as his family laughed happily in the summer heat, careless and unhindered by the world that plagued them. Teddy had remained glued to Regulus's side, and his oldest daughter Katie had found her best friend Alicia Poole and was giggling about something or the other. By the way they kept glancing at the boys that were practicing their dueling Sirius could deduce what it was about. Ginny and her friend Hermione were sitting carelessly on the ground, uncaring of the dirt that lingered on the folds of their skirts. His two youngest, Teddy and Anthony, were smiling as they watched Regulus and Cedric interact.

"Winter is coming."

* * *

Dragonstone's School of Hexes and Spells, New Valeria

* * *

This castle had once been great.

Dragonstone's School of Hexes and Spells was once the best school in the world. Everyone wanted to get into this school. It was elusive, the top of its class. It held the best training.

But now its hallways sat empty.

There were only four students on its roster, and one teacher: Severus Baelish. Harry overheard a person call Severus, Littlefinger. The name had incensed the man beyond reason and Harry made sure to never call him that. Severus taught them everything they needed to survive. Spells and hexes, like their namesake. How to grow food, and even taught Harry how to gut a fish. It was one of the most accessible meats on Dragonstone. It was what they had been reduced to. What they had to do in order to survive.

Dragonstone had been created with magiks only the Targaryen's had. It stayed warm in the winter, and cool in the summer. No drafts permeated its walls even to this day. Those powers were long gone. There was no one alive to train the last scions of Targaryen. Severus could only teach the two what he knew and sometimes could read about, and he could do neither for elemental magiks.

If only his father had not taken to the Madness Disease. Severus's whispers filled Harry's head, tightening and coiling uncomfortably. They had called his father Grindelwald the Terrible, the Mad Lord of Dragonstone. He forced his sister to marry him, creating James, Luna, and Harry from this union. The world had tried to ignore his father because of the power and prestige the Targaryen school held. Incest was highly frowned upon, looked at with disgust and horror. They barely recognized the last of the Targaryens because of this.

Harry became the Lord of Dragonstone at five. He was twenty-one now, a man full grown. But he was still at the beck and call of other Lords. His legitimacy could be lost easily, and then the Targaryens would be no more. Their last name would be stripped away and their castle ripped from their fumbling and weary clutches.

Harry remembered some of that time of madness, but not much. He remembered how the students suddenly stopped flowing in and became a stifling trickle. The way his mother screamed each night, the sound echoing down the halls and into his barren room. He imagined what terrible things his father must be doing to his mother, what he was forcing her to do. He had not understood till many years later.

Harry could not find his voice back then. He had been cowed by the splendor of his father and the power he held in his iron fist. The day father burned one of his closest friends in a fit of rage, shouting with spittle flying from his mouth that the dragon had been awakened, marked the beginning of the end.

After the burning of the former Lord of Winterfell almost all of their students had fled the next day. There was no prestige training under the ramblings of a mad man.

It had brought a war to this country. His older brother James had rose to the occasion. He slayed their enemies in battle during the day, and played a haunting melody with his harp late into the night. James was what made the rest of them stay. He was charming, filled with magnetism and grace. Everyone had hope for the future because of him. James had even managed to convince the Starks to meet with him for a truce, to end the war of death that had been plaguing the lands.

But then he saw Lily Stark, the beauty of the North with midnight tresses, and the war was over for the Targaryens.

James fell for her and all reason left his mind. All he wanted was her. He forgot about his family, about the madness his father had. He forgot what it would mean if he slighted the Starks even further and stole their only daughter away in the night.

James had once been friends with Sirius Stark. Best friends if Severus's whispers were correct. But that all ended once he took Lord Sirius's sister. James Targaryen had been killed soon after Marvolo Baratheon had swung his magical Warhammer, a spell the Baratheon's coveted to themselves and their heir. The war ended that day. The disposing of a madman was easy after that.

His little sister Luna didn't know much of their family's past. Luna only knew their father and brother had been killed in a war. Pavarti and Padma filled her head with how great and noble their older brother was. They never spoke of his misdeeds, and Harry couldn't bring himself to either.

This school was more of a shelter than anything. Harry had open its doors as a refuge. That way it could be at least used for something. Harry and Luna, along with Severus, Pavarti and Padma, kept to the top of the castle. Their visitors stayed at the bottom. They were the Common Folk, as many Lords called them. Dragonstone was a desolate place. It had been built on a volcanic island. There was no place to sow crops. It was isolated, at least two-hundred and fifty kilometers from anything remotely green. It was the Targaryens that had made it great and nothing else.

But now that the Targaryens were all but gone….

Harry wanted to have hope. He wished that their school could one day gain its splendor back. They would have students that came from all places of the world and they would mold them so that people would speak of how respectable Dragonstone's School of Hexes and Spells was.

But for now, Harry could only think of survival.

Giggles filled the stale air, and Harry knew only three people that did such a thing in this desolate, decrepit place that it had become.

"Luna?"

A head of white blonde hair peaked around the corner, along with two heads of dark brown.

"Harry?" Her head cocked to the side, much like a bird would. A smudge of dirt was on her left cheek, her eyes wide. It was an expression his sister held much of the time, those wide eyes of hers.

"Aren't you supposed to be in lessons with Severus? You're going to be late."

Harry had already finished basic schooling; it was the learning to be a Lord part he was still attempting to excel in. The only people that appeared to enjoy him being a Lord was the Common Folk, and that was because Harry went out of his way to make sure they were safe and fed. The two things Harry could brag about was how happy his people were and the House-elves. The Targaryens had brought the elves here from the Olde Country, wherever that had been. The knowledge had been lost throughout the years, much like everything else. The only other house that had them were the Lannisters, and they had paid a hefty price for two they had bought eight years back. It was a deal even Harry could not deny.

The House-elves cleaned the castle as best as they could, making food out of seemingly nothing. They were very good at making their rations stretch, especially with Common Folk coming to Dragonstone in hoards every time the monthly ship came in.

Without the House-elves Harry was not even sure they would have managed to stay afloat. Once loyalty was established with a house and an elf that family could do no wrong. Harry made certain to treat his House-elves well, because he knew where they would be without them.

"Oh, yes. I suppose I am," Luna answered blandly. One of the girls, Pavarti, giggled. When his eyes met her's Pavarti's cheeks flushed heavily, her gaze demurely falling to the floor.

"You certainly are, Miss Targaryen." The familiar tone of Severus Baelish wafted through the air, dry and flat. He had a penchant for the monotone. "Sometimes I cannot recall why I remain here among recalcitrant students when half of the great schools have asked me to join their faculty."

Because Severus was loyal. Because he had loved their mother and now Harry and Luna was all that was left of her. Harry had inherited her dark hair, but had his father's green eyes. Luna was the opposite, getting their mother's hair and father's eyes. The Targaryens were known for their emerald green eyes. No one in the world held that particular shade but them.

Kreacher had told him all of this in his cracking, aged voice. He was the oldest of the House-elves, sure to pass away any day now. Yet Harry had been saying this for years and the elf still remained. Kreacher told him that Severus had loved his mother since they were children, and that he had worshipped the ground she walked on. There was nothing Severus could do against his Lord when he began to hurt her, not without committing treason and losing his life in the process.

Sometimes Severus didn't seem to know whether to hate or adore the two Targaryen children. He appeared to do both equally. He was kinder to Luna. Kreacher thought it was because she acted similar to Harry's mother had before his father had lost his wits. When she had been content with life and unafraid of what it held for her.

Gellert Targaryen had always been quick to anger. But that madness had pushed him over the ledge and it was no longer in sight for the crazed Targaryen. Harry's mother had once been happy, carefree. Harry could only remember how she cowered from his father, the tears that streaked her face when she came down for breakfast every morning.

Luna was like what their mother was before, clueless to how cruel the world could be. Harry would do everything he could to keep her that way. Obliviously happy. Innocent. Naive.

Some of the lesser families were already asking for her hand. They wanted what was left of the Targaryens, their exotic features and magnetism. Harry could keep them at bay, but if any of the Lords asked...

Harry wasn't certain if he would be allowed the privilege to say no.

A loud pop filled the air. House-elves had their own brand of magic, much like the Targaryens. For all appearances they could do much of what a normal wizard could do, but without a wand. "Master! Oh, master! You must look! A letter has come! It sure has!" Dobby screeched in excitement, tripping over his own feet in his haste to make it to Harry.

Harry leaned down, ignoring his company to take the letter out of Dobby's hands. "Thank you," Harry murmured kindly with a smile.

Dobby's ears twitched proudly. "Dobby does what he can to keep Master and Mistress happy!"

"You certainly do," Harry agreed, his brows frowning when he saw the seal. The wax was black, with the shape of a crow in it. All of the Lords used owls to send messages. Only the Night's Watch kept to the ancient practice of using crows. It was why many people called Auror's themselves Crows, that and the black clothing they wore. Harry was not certain why they would try to contact him. Harry had no men to give, no riches to donate. Harry had always been worthless in the eyes of Marcus Thorne, the current Lord Commander of the Auror's. The man had always made that poignantly clear.

His frown turned to confusion when he saw who had signed off on it. Harry knew his great-grandfather was an Auror, but he had never heard anything from him. When one became an Auror they swore off all ties to their family, giving their lives to defending the helpless and needy. As the man had not once attempted to reach out to him Harry thought he felt the same way.

But by reading the letter worry was evident in its tone. Harry was not sure if he trusted this estranged grandfather of his. He appeared earnest, but it would not be the first time someone had tried to deceive Harry. Not at all.

* * *

A/N: I decided to revamp this entire story and begin again from scratch. Hopefully everyone finds this to be a higher quality. I still am interested in seeing if the people who read both ASOIAF and HP are able to figure out who is who.


	2. Chapter 2: Of Revenge and Savagery

Chapter 2: Of Revenge and Savagery

* * *

Sunspear's School of Battlemagic, Dorne

* * *

The Martells were filled with passion.

It had run through their blood since the beginning of time. Back when the Targaryens had their dragons and old magicks that made the world quake in their shadows. Before the Lannisters had gained their wealth and valor, when they had been only a miniscule school in the middle of nowhere.

Foreigners said the desert was what stirred up that emotion, and perhaps Viktor could partly agree with the assessment. Back when Sunspear hadn't been a school, only a blurb in the middle of a dry wasteland, people had to band together to survive. That willingness, the ability to live for their people as a whole and not just for themselves and their family, was what made them flourish.

Now Sunspear was a place to be reckoned with, known for their excellent battle magic and succulent wine. The beautiful women were a plus. Sunspear's women were known throughout all the schools, beautiful and seductive, their only competition being the Tyrells. The heat had their women bearing more than those petty, foreign men could stand. They tutted and fretted, sure, but their eyes always remained glued on the curvature of their design.

Viktor stood at his window overlooking the gardens. Many of the children enjoyed playing there. Fountains were available to help cool them off, and bushes to cover under during their numerous games. Some days he had to sit down in his chair to watch, the gout paining him too much to stand. The healers could make most of the pain and malformations disappear, but not everything. Today was a good day, no pain plaguing his joints or appendages and distracting him from his day to day tasks.

Astoria, his younger brother's love, sat with one of his nieces in the gardens. His youngest niece was all of six and beginning to walk in her older sister's footsteps. People called them the Sand Snakes, lethal and patient when it came to the art of revenge and savagery. The oldest, Petrova, was blunt and stocky. Built more like her father than the rest of them, and one of the best duelers he had ever seen despite her years.

Then there was beautiful Leanne, all of eleven and frightfully cunning. She would stab you in the back all the while smiling sweetly at you. Even her own mother could not always tell a lie when she gave it. Leanne had an obsession with poisons that exasperated her mother to no end and she was the only child with the light skin of her mother.

Kellah was their little scholar. She was the one that asked all the questions and searched for the answers. She was often out with the Common Folk, playing that silly game she had created that amused her so much. The youngest one, little Circe, had a love for horse riding and transfiguration. With it Circe was able to hide in plain sight, and she used that to her advantage as often as she could.

He had never expected anything like this when his younger brother Blaise announced he had taken a foreign woman as a lover. The girl he had brought back, Astoria, was quiet and withdrawn. But it was clear how much she loved Blaise. With his dark looks and cunning charms he had swept her off her feet. Astoria had been from the family of one of the great schools. She had chosen to take a chance and become lovers with Blaise. Then when they fell in love the only thing that had held her back was the niggling worry that her family would not approve.

They hadn't. The close-minded fools abhorred Sunspear's culture. They would rather lose their gem than accommodate her.

Now Astoria was a different person. Her delicate skin had tanned in the constant heat, and she had created strong and will some daughters. Viktor had not seen it at first but Blaise had chosen well.

Many of the great schools did not think a woman could rule, but one day Viktor's oldest, Angelina, would show them all. She was to lead their next generation and Viktor could only look at her with pride. Angelina never held back her opinion, and was quick to point out whatever injustices she encountered. She was known as one of the top students of Sunspear. Not many were willing to cross her. She already had countless men vying to be her lover, hopeful to one day become her husband. But Angelina was methodical and would accept nothing less than perfection.

Viktor had a son of course, Dean. But he did not appear to have any interest in ruling a school. He was more absorbed in flirting with beautiful women, particularly the fostered Merope Baratheon, and joking with his handful of close friends. So long as Angelina still wished to rule Sunspear in Dean's stead Viktor would let him play.

Viktor was confident in Angelina's ruling abilities, but worried none-the-less. Angelina's heart still boiled at the travesty committed against them nearly twelve years back. Viktor and Blaise once had a sister, stunning in every way. She had babied Blaise as a child, and he adored her for it.

The Lannisters had wanted their sweet sister's hand. For her to one day become the Lady of Casterly Rock alongside her husband. She had been willing to go along with it, requesting only a few months on her own before being sent off. Blaise and Viktor had been reluctant, but their father had brushed them off and continued with the deal.

At first she appeared fine but as time went on her letters because more desperate, wistful of one day coming back to visit Sunspear. She became pregnant, and this somehow made her even more morose. She had always wished for children, adored them. Viktor and Blaise could not understand why she suddenly felt this way.

Her last letters were bitter, the words spun with some secret none of them could decipher. Then the last letter came, announcing her death and that of their young nephew. At first the Lannisters had tried to pass it off as an accident. But the Martells had connections. Blaise had friends all across the world, and what he heard had almost started a war.

They sent them the bodies of their sister and nephew. Neither Viktor nor Blaise could mask the horror on their faces upon seeing them. Their loving sister, who had nursed Blaise back to health when he was young and been Viktor's first confident, had been brutally murdered. Her skull crushed and scratches lacerating her body. The healer told them there had been signs of a rape. Their nephew was not much better off, one side of his face unable to even be made out in the carnage. Viktor never got to see his nephew whole. That image in his mind would always be conjured up when thinking upon him.

Abrahax Lannister had sent them the head of Crabbe Clegane, along with the promise that they would betroth and foster his first granddaughter to them. Lucius told them it was his vassals fault and that Crabbe had lost control for reasons Lucius did not understand. But the Martells had known otherwise. Crabbe may have been the one to do the act, but it had been at Abrahax's order.

A war would be costly. Lannisters had unending gold, a mine of their own. They were rich beyond reason. All the Martells had was anger and passion, dotted with a healthy amount of hatred. They could not even say they had more people than the Lannisters.

Five years back, when dissent with the Lannisters was particularly high, Merope Baratheon was delivered to them. All of nine and filled with stories of the terrible Martells and what they would do to her upon arrival.

Time had remedied that. About a year ago Merope and Dean had begun to have feelings for each other. Merope knew by then the Martells held no ill will towards the girl. The Martells did not make the children of murderers pay. No, they made the killers pay for their sins themselves.

So the Martells bid their time. One day they would extract their revenge. One day the head of Abrahax Lannister would be served to him on a golden platter filled with blood red roses and drizzled with the poisonous venom of vengeance.

* * *

Pikes School of Wizardry, The Iron Islands

* * *

The men stunk of piss and Firewhiskey.

Marietta rolled the salt shaker back and forth utterly bored, watching as they made fools of themselves like always. The women were just as bad, too busy whoring themselves to notice the men's lack of wit.

Her eyes trained on her father, Fenrir Greyjoy. He had long, greying hair nearly down to his elbows and his head was beginning to bald. It didn't matter to these women that he had lost his good looks long ago. All they cared about was the power he held.

Lord of Pyke. Alpha to all werewolves. That was all they saw.

But Marietta saw different, she could tell Remus did too. He was her brother of sorts, in werewolf tradition. The last war on Pyke had been in the name of Fenrir, who had wanted to rise above all the other Lords. He wanted their women. He wanted their children and first born's. He wanted and wanted and wanted until there was barely anything left of the wolves, then he meekly hid tail and headed back to Pyke.

None of the other werewolves seemed to remember that part, how the great and mighty Lord Fenrir Greyjoy had run away like a slithering coward. They only remembered that Fenrir Grejoy, first of his name, had brought them momentary glory. They had been allowed to do as their instincts bid them. To kill. To gut. To bleed. To soil.

None of them cared they had lost in the end, because for a moment they had been able to be themselves. That was more than any alpha before had ever gifted them with.

They came back with less than they had, but with new blood. Remus was one of the new one's. He had once been a father and husband, had lands of his own to take care of. He told her years ago in a drunken stupor that his family thought he was dead and it was best that way. He didn't want them to know what he had become.

A monster.

Marietta may be Fenrir's trueborn but she would never hold Pyke for her own. She was a female, only good for breeding in her father's opinion. Pyke's School of Wizardry it was called. Marietta had never been invited. How she hated the fact that she was born with breasts instead of a cock between her legs. She could be as good as the men, she knew she could be. She only needed training.

But she would never get that here, nor at any of the other ruling schools. Not with her being a werewolf.

If Fenrir had his way it would be Remus that inherited it all. When Remus wasn't drowning himself in a tank of sorrows he was a strong wizard and an excellent werewolf. His instincts were the envy of wolves all over Pyke.

Too bad Remus didn't want them.

He didn't tell _them_ that, he told her. At first he had respected Marietta, something she had never experienced before. He said it was his way, how it was done where he was from. But as the years passed Remus became accustomed to the culture. Now he didn't treat her much different than anyone else. He treated her like a girl.

Like someone who didn't have a voice, who was too dumb and mute to repeat the things she heard.

Well, she had a voice. One day she would show them all. Marietta would be the greatest witch there ever was. She would inherit Pyke and make it Pykes School of Witches and Wizardry. She would be worshipped like her father and have a harem of her own. They wouldn't care about her looks then.

Marietta was no beauty. Bright, angry pimples covered her cheeks, and on occasion her forehead. Her strawberry blonde hair was limp and lifeless, just like the walls surrounding her. Her father had been dark haired, so she must have gotten the color from her nameless mother. She had probably been one of the whores frequenting this very table fourteen years ago. All her father had ever said of her mother was that she had an amazing pair of tits.

Marietta hadn't even inherited that.

She sighed, leaning her chin on her hand. Perhaps she should stop dreaming. None of that was possible, not without a teacher. Remus would be the next Lord, and Marietta a whore for some big, fat wolf with more balls than brain. It was the way of things, the natural order for her lot.

Her father thumped the table loudly, making the rowdy crowd quiet to listen to their liege. "Brothers," he began, standing up. "Seven years ago we left for glory, to douse our lips with the sweet, tantalizing taste of blood for the first time. To be like we were meant to be!"

Whistles and cat calls resounded against the stone walls harshly. Marietta winced, covering her ears to attempt to block out some of the noise.

"I stand before you bearing good news," he said solemnly, taking in all of their faces. "We have been promised that again!" A toothy smile filled with dagger-like teeth flitted across his face. The men went up in an uproar, screeches and howls calling into the evening. "The tides are changing! It's time for Pyke's School of Wizardry to be the best of its kind!" Cries of agreeance filled the air. Fenrir raised his cup, Firewhiskey sloshing down his arm. "It's time for people to _beg_ the honor of being a werewolf, not to fear it!"

By now the place was in an uproar. Men falling over themselves in their excitement. Either that or their drunkenness. Some men were even fucking their women, biting down on their tender flesh and leaving blood in its trace. There was no controlling this crowd. Not with the full moon so close and the exciting words of their Lord dribbling thickly into their ears.

Fenrir banged on the table again, waiting patiently for the men to calm. Once it was at a more manageable volume he continued. "I promise you all this and more. If you know anything about me you know that I am not a patient man, but I will be for this." His tone was soft. Marietta had to strain to make out his words. "For my second announcement," he said in his natural voice. "I would like you all to congratulate my children, Remus and Marietta."

A few of the men clapped, sending confused looks their way. Marietta slouched down in her chair, uncomfortable with the attention. She had no clue what this was about, and based on the look on Remus's face he didn't either.

"By the next year Remus and Marietta will be making the next generation of Greyjoys! Let us drink to this joyful news!"

Marietta froze, her eyes widening and her breath stuck in her throat. She could hear her heart pounding in her chest, tha-thump, tha-thump; and feel the way her muscles clenched tightly inside her.

She thought she had more time than that.

Remus appeared horrified from across the room, stumbling drunkenly out of the room in a daze. Remus was twenty-three years her senior. This was something she had never thought of. The two of them weren't actually related, but she didn't think that would make marriage okay. Marietta may only be a woman, but she had more of her life to give than that. She couldn't just accept this lying on her back, but she couldn't go against her father either.

That left her only one choice.

Her mind schemed as it planned, a deadly smirk growing across her face. She would get out of this if it was the last thing she did. This place may be called Pyke's School of Wizardry, but people didn't nickname it Monstrous Pyke behind closed doors for nothing.


	3. Chapter 3: The Wealthy and the Destitute

Chapter 3: The Wealthy and the Destitute

* * *

Highgarden's School of Wandless Magic, The Reach

* * *

Appoline Tyrell glared down from her terrace at her grandson who was once more making a fool of himself. It was a shame he was just about all that was left on the male side of the family, almost all of the surviving Tyrells being females.

Mothers did what they could to keep their sons from the graves, but sometimes it was not enough. Her son had died in the last war, a fat thing that said the most idiotic of things. She had to hush him at the worse of moments. Veela's were beautiful creatures, but her son had even managed to ruin that for himself. By the end of his life no woman would call him attractive, not even his own wife.

"Left! Right! Let us go inside. I fear ze summer heat will make me swoon," Appoline announced primly.

Left and Right were two tall, muscular, twin boys that had trained at The School of Winterfell. Those Starks cared about honor too much for Appoline to worry about them betraying her. The Starks instilled the value in every student that frequented their doors. It didn't hurt that they were attractive, young men for her eyes to feast upon. Too bad she could never tell them apart.

"Mother!" Daphne murmured in a scandalized tone. "They do 'ave names!"

"Hush, Daphne," the Queen of Thorns brushed off, a moniker she had earned throughout the years. "Don't take zat tone wiz me. And don't call me mère. If I'd given birth to you, I'm sure I'd remember. I'm only to blame for your 'usband, the former Lord Oaf of 'ighgarden's School of Wandless Magic."

Officially Gilderoy was the Lord of Highgarden, but everyone knew Appoline was the one truly in power. At seventy-nine years of age she still had some beauty left to her, which she used to her advantage whenever she could.

More than once throughout the years Appoline had brought up changing the name of their school, particularly the wandless magic part. Only Veelas could do that bit of sorcery, and the only Veelas were in Highgarden so of course they would attend this school. If the Tyrells ever wanted to gain any power or prestige a different name was in order to attract more students. But no one would listen to the ramblings of an old, senile woman. Appoline could only press so far. The name had stood since the creation of Highgarden nearly four thousand years ago, and men dearly loved their tatty traditions.

Her cane made shallow echoes with every step she took. Truthfully, she didn't need it. But people saw what they wanted. No one would ever expect anything from a grey haired woman with a forgetful mind that walked with a cane and a forgery of a limp. She liked to say the weather made it painful.

Three of her grandchildren, all female, were sitting around a table sewing as she passed. One of them smiled brightly upon seeing her.

"Grandmère, what do you tink of zis?"

The girl, her was name something like Dominique. Or was it Victoire? Appoline couldn't bring herself to keep track of them all. She was a senile woman, after all. Girl handed Appoline the beginnings of a golden rose, the background a dark green. The school words, 'Growing Stronger' were emblazoned upon it. Appoline handed it back, walking down the hall as she responded. "I eat from plates stamped wiz roses, I sleep in sheets embroidered wiz roses, I 'ave a golden rose painted on my chamber pot- as if zat makes it smell any better. Roses are boring, dear."

She could hear the girl sigh tiredly. Appoline could imagine her moping back to her table. Out of all her grandchildren Fleur was the most promising. Now that was a young woman that knew what she wanted and took it! She had learned from the best, her grandmother dearest.

If only Fleur had wanted someone with a little more power for a husband.

It was disappointing, really. For some reason Fleur had decided on having Roger Baratheon as a husband. He would never amount to much, just a family with a respectably sized home and connections to two Lords by blood. Marvolo Baratheon was the Lord of that particular family. His son Draco, the little shit that Appoline heard he was, would be its future Lord. Merlin help the living when that happened. May Marvolo Baratheon be blessed with eternal life; at the least another fifty years. Perhaps the boy would meet an early demise in that time.

Roger Baratheon wasn't even on the right side of the table, if you caught her drift. A sword swallower through and through. She was almost certain the boy was in some type of illicit affair with her grandson Gilderoy. How amusing it would be for it all to unfurrow. Appoline could only hope she was there when it happened.

Fleur was sitting at Appoline's table inside her room when she finally made it there, winded and disheveled. Appoline made sure to adjust herself in the standing mirror before sitting down.

"Grandmère." Fleur smiled prettily, her eyes filled with mischief. "You 'ave 'eard? Roger iz on 'is way to visit."

Appoline had heard as much. He was under the guise of visiting with his betrothed Fleur, but he would most definitely make a visit or two, maybe three, to the stables for that gallant grandson of hers.

"Splendid, my dear," Appoline intoned, drinking from her vase of wine with a nod.

Fleur bright expression stilled, her eyes taking her grandmother in before sulking. "You don't truly believe zat."

The slightest tilt of Appoline's lips showed her pleasure at Fleur catching that. Fleur was one of the few that could notice her veiled barbs. Most of the time Appoline made them obvious, but a meager few could read through the lines when she placed a hidden insult.

"No, I believe Roger Baratheon is an arrogant tart. But what is an old woman to do?" He was sure to bring that strange Nymphadora of Tarth with him too. Her hair was always some horrid, bright shade of blue or pink. It was unnatural. She would never get a husband like that.

Appoline glared at the smattering of fresh fruit on her table, then glanced at the server standing near the door a respectable distance away from her and Fleur.

"Boy, bring me some cheese."

The server regarded her warily. "The cheese will be served after ze cakes, my Lady."

People only called Appoline 'Lady' when they wanted something from her or were grievously nervous because they had made an error or accidental slight. It was obvious which category the server was in. Appoline had lost her title as Lady years ago, back when her fool of a husband had died in that war he decided to support. Daphne was technically the Lady of Highgarden, since Gilderoy was not married. Not that many people listened to technicalities around here.

"The cheese will be served when I want it to be served, and I want it to be served now."

The boy hurried to do as she instructed. Appoline scoffed, rolling her eyes disdainfully. Fleur was assessing her when she turned to look at her granddaughter.

"What? Out wiz it girl." She did not have time for riddles and conundrums, especially not from her.

Fleur's lips tightened before letting out a sigh. She was sitting comfortably in her chair, leaning back with one leg crossed over the other. "What do you feel about Louis becoming Lord of 'ighgarden instead of Gilderoy?"

Appoline's brows rose in surprise. It wasn't often that she was shocked, but if anyone could manage it, it was Fleur. "Louis is all of three." And the only other male Tyrell. At least the only one with a direct line to the school. It would be a fight between their numerous cousins for who would run Highgarden if both Gilderoy and Louis met an early demise. Louis was the son of her second son who had passed away to Dragon Pox two years back, making him the next in line if something were to happen to Gilderoy.

"He will grow."

Appoline leaned back in the chair, her face thoughtful. "I thought you and your brother were close."

"We are."

"Then what is with zis nonsense?" Had she found out about Gilderoy and Roger?

Fleur threw an apple up in the air, catching it before doing it again and taking a bite. The juice dripped down Fleur's chin and she wiped it away delicately with a cloth napkin. "I don't feel like Gilderoy will make a good Lord. I love him. Gods, I do. But sometimes he's so... _idiotic_. I swear he care more about what 'is hair looks like than if we'll survive ze winter."

Appoline couldn't agree with her more. Just earlier he was doing some strange thing with a wand holster and a saddle in front of his fellow students, a right class jester. A Lord couldn't act that way. No one would take him seriously.

"Let us watch zem grow, shall we? Sometimes men change." Some, but not all. "I still do not understand what you see in zat Roger boy," Appoline harrumphed, clearly displeased.

Fleur smirked, her eyes scheming. "You will know what I see one day, grandmère."

* * *

White Tree, North of The Wall

* * *

Today was a heart shattering, cold day.

Her teats were sure to freeze off any moment. Lavender shivered, glancing over to the group of Thenn's to her left. She didn't trust them any better than the average green boy trying to poke his way blindly inside of her womanly folds.

Their leader was earless, without a hair to be seen on his body. Well, perhaps he had eye lashes. She couldn't tell from this far away. His head was bald, with his brows shaved clean off. He had done that sacred scarification ritual they had, just like the other Thenn's surrounding him.

Normally Lavender wouldn't pay attention to such things. She didn't care for Thenn's. They were strange, barbaric. Their solution for survival in this frozen wasteland was to eat their enemies. Everyone was an enemy to a Thenn, sometimes even a Thenn.

But that Thenn Lavender had once known. He was the boy she had curled up against on the coldest of nights to stay warm. He was the one she had taught to shoot arrows when they were young. He was there when two giants had appeared at their camp, crumpling her insides with fear.

He was the one that had left her behind.

She hadn't known he had at the time. One day he was there and the next he was gone. She thought he had died. It was a normal enough occurrence. She just couldn't understand why he joined the Thenn's. He had hated them just as much as she did. It had been three years since Lavender had last seen Ron. When he had left he had been a skinny boy of thirteen, barely able to figure out his prick from a set of teats. She had to re-name him when he first came. His name had been Ronald back then.

"Your name is Ronald?"

He blinked up at her, scuffing his foot in the gritty, brown slush beneath their feet. "Yes?"

Lavender shook her head, chunks of curls following the motion. "Ronald is a Lords name. You'll never fit in here with a name like that." His shoulder's drooped, eyes falling to the ground. "Let's call you Ron. That's a fine, strong name."

He had agreed to it back then, had been excited about the name change. But now…

He was different.

He brought his gaze up from the fire, meticulously going over the crowd. Lavender blushed, dragging her gaze to the ground to avoid eye contact. She felt him staring at her longer than the others. She could tell he knew who she was even after three years.

She glanced at Moody, that crazy eye of his swiveling in its socket. Moody was a warg, a bit of old magic from long ago. It was something those wizards over The Wall didn't believe in. He could inhabit the mind of an animal if his own will was strong enough. Right now he had molded with the mind of a falcon, playing watcher of the camp. No one ever snuck up on Mad-eye Moody. One of his eyes may be blind, but it saw more than any of them would ever see.

"Oi! Lavender! Lord Rayder wants ta see ya," Charlie Giantsbane called out raucously. Charlie had once known Ron too. They had banded together when they first showed up together in their village, all of three and seven. Throughout the years they had replaced each other with new friends, ones with more similar interest.

"Tell him I'll come if his bloody fire is warmer than mine!" she growled. She was tired of him calling for her. It was always Lavender this, or Lavender that. She was her own damn woman and she would stay that bloody way.

Charlie's answering grin was animalistic, making her wary. "Oliver said you'd say that. He said to say it has to do with that pretty Crow of yours when you did."

She stood up immediately, walking over to him. "What does that mean?"

"It means he has a letter for you to deliver to those Auror's you love so much."

"I only love one," she bit out defiantly. "One day I'll make him mine. I'll steal him like Lords do their Ladies over the walls."

Charlie's head titled up in the air, his laugh only further adding fire to the flame that was Lavender.

"At least I don't fuck bears! It's the only way you'll ever feel a woman's heat," she hissed in anger.

His laughter cut off and he glared. "It were a bear pelt woman. A girl was on it, I yell ya!"

"Oh, is that why everyone says they saw a bear with the queerest of cubs walking about?" she smirked, a pompous brow raised in question.

"Arg, woman!" he snarled in frustration. "Those be spearwives tales!"

Lavender turned her back to him, heading over to Oliver Rayder's tent. "Whatever you say Bear Fucker!"

She could hear his answering howl of anger, making a grin spread across his lips. Sometimes he was so easy to wind up.

Oliver's tent _was_ warmer than hers to Lavender's delight. She fanned her frozen fingers in the flickering heat, watching Oliver in the corner of the room going over battle plans with the Lord o' Bone's. He wasn't really a Lord. He had fastened that name himself. Who was going to argue with a man who wore bones for armor?

"Lavender," Oliver finally called out with a smile. "How wonderful it is to see you. Such a pretty thing you've become."

"Out with it already. We both know I'm no such thing," Lavender answered impatiently. Lavendar had crooked teeth, along with unruly brown locks that did as they pleased. She was too skinny and her eyes too far apart to be called pretty.

"Is that why the boys love you so much," Oliver teased.

"Just give me the damned letter or I'll be off again," Lavender warned. She could not argue that boys still somehow liked her. It was probably all the curls. They were a rare thing to be seen here.

"Very well, then."

He handed it over to her. Lavender snatched it from him, crumpling it in the process. It didn't matter. The Crow's would still read it.

She could see Grawp waving at her as she left. She brought her hand up to do the same. She may have been terrified of them at first, but as she had found out throughout the year's giants could be nice if they didn't think you were their enemy.

The Wall was just as enormous up close as it was far away, dangerous and impenetrable. She picked up the horn on the stump, blowing shortly twice, waiting, and then following it with a long blow. Bill Snow knew the call to come down and meet her. He was the Auror's ambassador of sorts for the Crow's in regards to the Squib's. From what she could tell he got the position because no one else wanted to do it.

This time there were two other Auror's with him. One was chubby and the other thin and reedy. They remained farther back as Bill stepped forward, getting off his formidable, white-grey hippogriff. She had never seen him without Buckbeak, nor had she ever seen anyone tame a hippogriff. Bill tried to explain it away as Buckbeak being his familiar, but Lavender had brushed him off. There was no such thing. The creature appeared to hate everyone but Bill, but put up with others when his master bid him to.

"Took ya long enough," Lavender teased.

Bills cheeks flushed slightly, his lips becoming a thin line. "You have something from Oliver Rayder?"

"I do." She sat down comfortably on the log, head tilted back to look at him. "What will you give me for it?"

Bill squirmed, glancing behind him uncomfortably. "Lavender please," Bill whispered.

"Lavender please, Lavender please," she teased. "Are you a man Bill Snow, or a boy?"

His eyes met hers defiantly. "I'm a man."

"Then prove it."

His eyes dropped, the anger dying off. "I can't prove it the way you want me to. I'm an Auror, sworn to my brotherhood. I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children. I shall-"

"Oh shut up, Bill Snow. Your vows hold no interest to me." It wasn't like he was already bound to them. He was still training to become one, a waste of time if you asked her.

He became silent, watching her with those dark, grey eyes of his.

"William?" the chubby one called out uncertain. "Are you almost done?"

Lavender blinked, staring up at Bill in confusion. "Your name is William?"

"Yes." He appeared uncomfortable with the notion, as uncomfortable was she was.

Lavender frowned. William sounded like some Lords name, and Bill had assured her he was anything but. "Why do they call you Bill if your name is William?"

He squirmed, evidently uncomfortable. "It's a nickname for William."

Lavender stared at him incredulously. "A nickname would be Will, not Bill. You know nothing, Bill Snow." She handed over the letter, standing up to stretch and making sure her parka slid up to reveal her stomach. His eyes roamed down and became glued and Lavender grinned, lowering her arms to cover herself once more. The momentary cold was worth it. "I'll be seeing you soon enough. I'm off to my cold wasteland, and you to your warm castle with no women."

He didn't say a word as she walked away, not one. But Lavender was not worried. One day Bill Snow would be her man, and she his spearwife.

* * *

A/N: I'm looking for a beta for this fic if anyone is interested.


	4. Chapter 4: The Clashing of Lords

Chapter 4: The Clashing of Lords

* * *

Dilapidated Ruins, The Crownlands

* * *

Percy had never been one for flying.

It was why he insisted on riding horses. But by the time people were willing to listen to him it had been too late. Their party would have not arrived on time to the meeting between the great Lord's.

Percy was no Lord, his father was. But if everything went right he would be one day. His father, Amycus Frey, was Lord of the Twins. A set of jagged peaks that breached between two forest. There were dangerous creatures inside the woodlands, and his father took advantage of that. One galleon per person for a safe trip through the woods. The common folk had to pay if they had need to get to the other side, filling Lord Frey's pockets.

Percy thought the toll was a good idea, but not very practical. They had to turn away many a family's because they could not afford it. Perhaps ten sickles per person? Yes, that sounded much more tolerable. It was seven sickles less than a galleon, and more people would be able to pay that amount. He wasn't sure if they would make more money from the change, but at least the common folk wouldn't find the Freys so intolerable.

But that was probably long off. Despite the fact that his father was eighty-seven he showed no signs of keeling over. Percy was sixty-one years old himself, his youngest child thirty-nine. Many of his siblings had already died off, six in number, and he wondered if he was next to join the worms and larvae in the browned grass surrounding the Twins.

He landed as soon as the castle was in walking distance. It appeared some of the great families had decided to sleep overnight, fore he passed a few tents on the way there. One a deep red in color. The Imp came staggering out, less of a drunkard that he usually was. Percy had only met the man once in truth, and it hadn't been a very good first impression. All he could do was drink and play with that whore of his, Rosmerta. Percy could recall him saying that name a few times.

"Greetings, Ser Percy. I was expecting your father to show," Filius called out, a nameless wizard standing to his side. The unknown man was on the short side, with eyes of brown and stringy hair.

If Filius was expecting his father to come that clearly revealed exactly how well the man knew Lord Amycus Frey. If Percy's father could push a _Lordly_ duty onto one of his numerous children he would do it every time.

"I'm afraid my father had a prior obligation he needed to attend," Percy answered diplomatically.

"It seems our fathers are in the same boats then," Filius supplied. Despite his answer he looked nowhere near convinced.

The rest of the walk to the castle was silent. Many centuries ago it had been a school. From what folk tales said it was one of the best. It was impressive, Percy would give it that. Craggy peaks rose from the mists, dark and daunting. A dilapidated gate circled the perimeter. He could tell that it had once been ornate, but time had worn and crumpled it.

The unknown wizard traveling with Filius Lannister whistled a tune, appearing completely at ease. His hands were shoved in his pockets and he glanced at their surroundings calmly, taking in the scenery more than anything.

"After you," Percy said congenially, holding the rusted fence open for them. When the way cleared for him Percy helped himself, glancing up at the words that embellished the overly large doors. The words 'Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry' were above it in elegant cursive.

"They say magic still permeates these ruins." Filius paused, taking it in. "But then I was listening to the ramblings of a drunkard man so I'm not sure how true that bit of knowledge is."

Percy gave him a look of derision, budging past him to walk inside. The doors opened on their own accord, taking him aback. He hesitated, before marching all the way inside. Cobwebs littered every corner, the feces of small animals strewn across the ground. He made sure to avoid every pellet, his eyes drawn to the staircase before him.

"Decisions, decisions. If I were a Lord which way would I go?" Filius mused, rubbing his chin.

"Not up for sure," Nameless Man snorted. "The fat Lord's would find it too much of an inconvenience."

"You are certainly correct Mundungus," Filius announced after a moment of musing. "So will it be left or right? I love a good adventure."

Right then a cackling voice answered them. "If it's not an itty bitty Lord! I've never seen one like you!"

Filius cleared his throat. "I happen to not be a Lord."

They all stared unnerved at the miniscule, floating being near the ceiling.

"And what do you happen to be?" Mundungus asked confrontationally, placing his hand on his wand.

The floating creature screeched in laughter, floating upside down until his head was pointing towards the floor. It was there he stayed, legs crisscrossed as he watched them. "I am Peeves, resident poltergeist at Hogety Hogwarts!" He turned right side up, his head cocking to the side. "Are you looking for the other Lord's?"

Filius nodded. "We are. Would you perhaps be able to direct us to them?"

Percy had never heard of a poltergeist, but he did know the small man did make him feel unease.

"Say please, shan't say nothing if you don't," he sang shrilly, pulling a wince from all of them.

Filius let out a soft sigh. "Please?"

"NOTHING! Ha haaa! Told you I wouldn't say nothing if you didn't say please! Ha ha! Haaaaaa!" And they heard the sound of Peeves whooshing away and Filius cursing in rage.

"Well what do we do now?" Percy asked mildly.

"I haven't the faintest idea," Filius sighed.

"I know where the Lord's have gone." A figure of grey floated towards them, skirts drifting with an unfelt wind at her ankles. She stopped at the end of the staircase, hovering just above it. Percy wasn't certain why everyone at this cursed place appeared to float. He only hoped it wasn't something infectious in the air. The strange woman pointed to the door on their left.

"In there, are they?" Mundungus questioned. He sauntered over to the door, prying it open and glancing inside. When he brought his head back he nodded. "The lass isn't lying, if you are a lass that is. Not sure what you are."

"I am a ghost, a person once living who is now dead," she answered calmly. "Hogwart's has a number of them. Many people call me the Grey Lady."

"So you were the wife of a Lord in your day?" Mundungus queried.

"Not at all."

"Then why are you called the Grey Lady."

The woman shrugged. "It meant something different back then. Many things have changed. This castle, for instance. I was here in its first hundred years of life, watched thousands upon thousands of students come and go. But now it is this: a ruin. I never thought I'd see the day Hogwart's became like this. But then," she pondered, tapping her chin lightly. "I never expected a Headmaster to try and fasten himself as King, rechristening this town as King's Landing. It is what marked the beginning of the downfall of this school, and of the world itself."

"At the very least my father will be happy to know the Lannisters survived through that troubling time," Filius announced. He pointed to a dusky, worn tapestry on the wall. On the upper left corner of it was a picture of a lion, the background red and gold. On the upper right a snake with a green and silver backing. Lower left was a badger surrounded by yellow and black and on the lower right a raven with blue and bronze.

The ghost giggled, covering her face with her hand. Filius frowned, confusion evident on his face. "What is so funny?"

"Nothing, nothing at all!" she laughed, disappearing through a wall.

Percy swallowed thickly, hurrying to open the door to the left. "I hope all the Lords have assembled by now." He didn't want to be here any longer than he had to be.

"Yes," Filius agreed, watching the wall unconvinced. As if it had been a trick of the light. "Let us go."

To his relief most of the Lords appeared to be there already. Filius and Percy passed by four tables, each with one of the symbols on that crest they had passed above. The Lords were all sitting at the table in the front, candles floating above bringing light into the room.

Percy had met very few of them previously. He knew Roger Baratheon because the man enjoyed his travels. He had stopped by the majority of schools. Roger was not a Lord, he was the youngest brother of one. Percy found it odd the second oldest hadn't been sent in his stead but Marvolo Baratheon was not always predictable, and he did favor his youngest brother.

He knew of Gilderoy Tyrell, a pompous young man prone to making ill-timed and senseless jokes. Percy was not surprised to see Appoline Tyrell next to him whispering in his ear. Everyone knew Appoline pulled most the strings in the Tyrell family.

Then there was Harry Targaryen. He was born of incest from the Mad Lord of Dragonstone. The boy tried to hide it, but Percy could tell he was unnerved. Percy couldn't imagine what it felt like to sit next to the wizened man called Albus Targaryen. It would most likely be the first time they had met, and they did not appear to be hitting it off. Harry was trying to ignore him, but Albus sat calm. His hands were folded in his lap and he was watching everyone over crescent moon shaped spectacles. His I'm-A-Defenseless-Elderly-Man act did not trick Percy. Albus Targaryen had been renown in his day, famous and known as the best fighter in their ranks. Just because he was old did not mean he was defenseless. Perhaps his reflexes were less than they were but Percy was willing to bet his future seat as Lord Frey on the fact that he was still a better fighter than the majority of the witches and wizards currently in their prime.

Arthur Tully and Sirius Stark sat next to each other. They were brothers through marriage. Emmeline was the sister of Arthur and had bore the name Tully before taking on the last name Stark. Both men appeared to get along well based on the flowing conversation they were having.

Marcus Thorne was the leader of the Auror's. He had called this meeting at Albus's insistence. He was brooding, glaring at the floor unblinking. Only Victor Martell was missing. Percy was certain the Lord would not appear, not with that rumored gout that was giving him so much pain. It would most likely be his son or younger brother that came to this rendezvous.

"There will be a storm coming soon," Lord Sirius Stark announced levelly.

"How do you know that?" Percy murmured unconvinced.

Sirius Stark gave an ironic half grin and pointed up at the ceiling.

With an arched brow Percy glanced up, gasping when he did. The ceiling was the sky, but it was not. It looked exactly how a sky normally did, yet Percy could see the cracks between every stone proving it to be the ceiling. After everything Percy had seen thus far he was forced to admit King's Landing did happen to have a lot of magic despite no upkeep the past few thousand years. The ceiling was a work of magic he had never witnessed before, and probably never would again. The spell must have been lost throughout the centuries.

The doors slammed open obnoxiously, wood banging on stone harsh and unfettered. Gilderoy Tyrell gasped from his place, a slight look of fear creeping onto his face. Surely the Martells were not that imposing. The two families did not get along but that did not equate to fear.

As soon as Percy turned around he could see why the room had gone eerily silent. Fenrir Greyjoy had walked in, for all appearances as if he belonged here. Percy reached down to grip his wand, glad for the fact that both chairs nearest him were filled.

Fenrir Greyjoy sat next to Albus Targaryen, a bold move on his part. He leaned back in his chair at ease, dropping his shoe clad feet on the table. Mud splatted around them, pulling a wince out of Percy.

"Are you all surprised ta' see me?" He grinned wolfishly, meeting everyone's eyes unafraid. Appoline Tyrell appeared utterly unimpressed by his act, rolling her eyes and staring in the opposite direction resolutely, determined not to even give him the time of day. Albus hadn't so much as twitched. "I'm a Lord too, ya know. Most of ya appear to forget that bit."

On purpose, Percy finished in his head. No one wanted a blood thirsty werewolf at their home and hearth.

"You also got a letter?" Roger asked carefully, his face blank.

"How else would I know of this meeting?"

Everyone glanced at Albus, but the old man didn't appear to feel everyone's gaze on him. He appeared as congenial as always.

Arthur Tully cleared his throat. "Should we begin with small things while we're at it? We should take advantage of this meeting."

At first no one said a word, but then Appoline Tyrell skillfully nudged her grandson. He jumped, glancing at her before staring at the wooden table, hair dangling just over his eyes. "My grandmother wa…" he trailed off, re-working his words when he noticed the displeased expression on his grandmother's face. "My sister will be wed to Roger Baratheon in the next passing year. I extend invitation to all who wish to attend."

Percy noted his differing accent from his family. Gilderoy used to have one, but had shed it throughout his travels. Highgarden was known for that accent of theirs, among other things. He wondered how this would affect the people there in the long run. Most took example from their Lord. Perhaps one day that accent would no longer exist. If the old woman died it certainly wouldn't. She was an unspoken leader in their family.

"I see many of the Lords have not bothered to come, instead sending family members," Marcus Thorne grumbled, clearly displeased.

It was an astute assessment. The only Lords here were Sirius Stark, Harry Targaryen, Gilderoy Tyrell, and Fenrir Grejoy, if you counted him. Percy was almost certain it would have been impossible for Victor Martell to come with his ailing health so that was excusable.

"My father is a busy man," was Filius Lanninsters only response. Percy was sure that was true, but he also knew Abrahax Lannister didn't have the patience for this type of thing. If he didn't think it was worth his time he would not come.

"My brother's health is failing," Arthur Tully said finally. "He cannot even make it to the first floor of the castle, let alone a journey so far." He cleared his throat. "My sister, Penelope Arryn, also told me to convey her condolences of not being able to come. Penelope is newly a widow, and her only son is at the mere age of ten. I will notify Lady Penelope of any pressing matters."

Penelope Arryn had just lost her ailing husband mere months ago. They had managed to have one child, a son. From what Percy had heard of him he was a sickly thing. He never even entertained the idea that the Arryns would come, he had momentarily forgotten about them if he were honest. Penelope was much too protective of her young after her numerous miscarriages and stillbirths throughout the years. She would probably never leave that castle of hers.

As for Horace Tully, the announcement wasn't too surprising. Lord Horace Tully was a pudgy man who partook of too many delights offered by the world. He was easy going, but his health had never been the best. He was corpulent in his taste, and jolly in nature. A perfect fit as the ruling Lord of Riverrun's Finishing School. If Lord Horace were to pass his son Amos would become Lord. He was in his thirties and still not married. It appeared the men in that family had a penchant for marrying late. Horaces brother Arthur was in his early fifties and still not married. He did not appear to have any plans to do such a thing either.

Blaise Martell opened the doors just then, finishing the last of their circle. "I apologize for my tardiness. Ve vere met vith some…" he paused, sitting down in the last chair casually. "Resistance, but it vas nothing we could not handle."

No one questioned what this "resistance" was, but it was most likely the Common Folk. They were known to rebel every now and then.

"Very well then," Albus Targaryen began, speaking for the first time. "Let us begin, shall we? I'm sure you all have other pressing matters to tend to."

Marcus Thorne nodded beside Albus, pulling a sheet of parchment from his clothing and unfolding it. "There has been a stirring among the Common Folk as of late. Of an upcoming war beginning with the blood of nobles."

Gilderoy snorted. "When is there not war?"

"Are you basing this meeting on the rumors that Common Folk are reporting?" Percy asked incredulous. They were always gossiping about one thing or another. Much like the nobles were. To call a meeting on something so trivial as gossip was a waste of everyone's time.

Marcus glared at him. "Let's not forget that Auror's deal with them on a daily basis. Many of our Auror's are in fact from the Common."

"We can't be frightened by every rumor that floats about," Arthur Tully grumbled, now in a bad mood about the time wasted coming here.

"I agree," Marcus answered coolly. "But these are not mere rumors. There's merit to them."

Appoline Tyrell snorted, rolling her eyes at the ceiling. "You can distinguish rumor from truth? I'd like to 'ear how you do zat," she countered disdainfully. "Gossip is what women do when zere's nothing else to keep zem preoccupied. Your placing value in wives' tales. Now, if Severus Baelish told me zis I would be more willing to agree. But as you can see…" she trailed off, gesturing to the empty handed Harry Targaryen who did not appear to have anyone with him.

Severus Baelish was a whisperer, with spies planted all across the land. He knew much of the goings on in the schools, sometimes before word even got out of it. He would be very useful to any schools repertoire. Too bad he refused any offer given to him, deciding on staying with the two ailing Targaryen brats.

Harry gave a slight blush, clearing his throat. "Severus told me no such thing when I left."

"Well zere you 'ave it. I believe this meeting is adjourned. A waste of time if you ask me," Appoline nattered, standing up to leave with her grandson following closely behind.

"Now wait just a minute!" Marcus said irritated. "These aren't just rumors, and even if they are you should listen to them, as they would affect every one of us. It's not just about war, but an end to our way of life."

Appoline turned around, not completely convinced. "What does zat mean?"

Marcus gestured for her to sit down. She did so grudgingly, a frown on her lips.

"I have heard many troubling rumors," he began again, searching each of their eyes. "As you know the Auror's have always worked more closely with the Common Folk. About half of our soldiers come from them. They can be good if given the proper training."

Appoline snorted but did not deny his claims.

"In the passing months I have received more men from the Common Folk to train. They tell me of a man, a Lord, that wishes to fasten himself as King."

Percy felt his brows raise in shock. All of them knew what happened the last time a King ruled these lands. That world had died, and the survivors had to create a new one out of the flames. A new King could mean the same thing, and no one wanted another King. They were all happy as they were, ruling their own schools and regions with no one else interfering on them.

"It is a Lord, you say?" Victor clarified, his accent echoing in the hall.

Marcus nodded grimly.

That meant there was a traitor in their mist. One of these school's greedily wished for more than they had.

If these rumors were true.

"We must ban together. If these rumors are correct we must address them. It takes a great deal of courage to stand up to your enemies, but a great deal more to stand up to your friends," Albus supplied.

"What are you suggesting Albus? Alliances?" Roger Baratheon asked carefully.

Albus nodded stoically. "We can only know our enemies by making them our friends, and by making them our friends we no longer have enemies," he departed wisely.

"Don't look at me," Arthur Tully grumbled irritably, noticing everyone's stare. "I have no wish to marry. My brother is Lord and he has a son. There is no need for me to."

"But you do 'ave a nephew," Appoline reasoned, a coy look in her eyes. It was those devious eyes that always got everyone in trouble.

Arthur appeared taken aback. "I do not have any authority over him. He has a father, and Amos is a man grown. He needs no one to dictate his life. He knows what he needs to do."

"What of you Lord Stark? You have four children unspoken for," Percy voiced, scheming in his mind a way to get one of his sisters or nieces as Lady of The School of Winterfell. Making direct ties to the Starks would always be ideal.

Sirius Stark cleared his throat. "It is true I have a daughter and son nearing marrying age. Emmeline and I have discussed it some, but have not come to a clear conclusion." He appeared thoughtful, lost in his mind in whatever he was deciding to do. "Perhaps a betrothal with one of the other great families would be ideal when departing from here."

It was smart of Lord Stark. He wasn't offering to foster one of his children. That meant virtually losing ties and going to live with that family. With a betrothal he could keep his child up to their nineteenth birthday at his castle.

"And then we have Lord Targaryen," Fenrir Greyjoy mused. "And his pretty little sister Luna."

"No," Harry Targaryen answered resolutely, glaring into the werewolves' eyes. "The only way you will get my sister is pried from my dead, worm infested hands," Harry hissed vehemently.

"Your father was known for incest," Roger Baratheon mused. "Perhaps that is true for you too."

Harry paled, shaking his head in apparent unease. "I am not my father. I do not feel that way for my sister." He hesitated. "She is an innocent, unknowing of the world and how it works. She does not even know of our father, what he had done," Harry trailed off, not meeting any of their eyes.

"The best way to disprove that rumor is for you or your sister to marry. Preferably both," Percy suggested.

Harry sat quite for a few minutes, mulling over all of their words.

"What do you think of a betrothal between my oldest daughter and you," Lord Stark suggested suddenly.

Harry's eyes bulged in shock. Most of the people at the table were surprised by the sudden suggestion. There was not much winning a betrothal with Harry Targaryen. His castle was decrepit, his family known for incest and madness thanks to his father. He did not have much to offer. Sirius Stark could virtually offer any of his daughters to one of the ruling Lords and make them a Lady. Even his youngest son would be worth more than Harry Targaryen.

"I would be open to the deal," Harry answered quietly.

"What of your sister?" Filius intoned, appearing a bit reluctant.

Harry's lips pursed in a tight line. He said finally, "Once she is old enough."

"My father has an interest in sealing an alliance with you."

"Your father wants to marry my younger sister?" Harry was doing a poor job of hiding the evident disgust on his face.

"Not my father," Filius answered evenly.

It took a moment for Harry to connect what the imp was say, but when he did it was obvious to the whole room. "You?" he asked incredulous.

"I'm afraid so," Filius answered evenly.

Harry puzzled over this information, and while Harry puzzled Percy tried to figure out what there was to gain in wishing to have the young Targaryen as the next Lady of Casterly Rock.

Then it was obvious. Abrahax Lannister liked to collect gifts. A few years back he had bought two female house elves for an obscene amount from the Targaryens just to boast he had them. The Starks had the gift of familiars. All of them had an animal bound to them. No one was sure how it worked or why they were able to do it. Abrahax had nothing over the Starks so he had moved on. Percy's family had the occasional child born with visions, but it always led to madness. Taking that into account the gift was not worth as much. The Tarths had Metamorphmagus abilities, but Abrahax had certainly seen how much of a difficulty they were as children. The gift was uncontrollable at that time, and Abrahax could have nothing less of perfection even at that young age.

So the Targaryens were perfect.

With their gift of elements they were the perfect treasure to pull into the fold. Fire did not burn them, and the cold did not freeze them. They were beautiful to look at, and one of the things the Abrahax enjoyed viewing was beauty. If the future Lannisters were able to get any of that gift it would only benefit him.

Percy wasn't sure why he didn't try to get a Veela. The Lannisters and the Tyrells did have a bit of a rivalry, but he didn't think that would impede on relations. It had to be because the Targaryens were dying out. There were only two of them left in the world and there might not be a chance in the next generation. Abrahax Lannister would probably not even be alive for that.

Or maybe it was because the Tyrells had refused them. No one wanted to be married to a grotesque looking small man.

Harry appeared to know that he was trapped. There was no way to avoid this alliance without slighting the Lannisters, and Harry Targaryen could not afford that. The Lannisters held the second best school in the world, only beat by the Baratheons. The Baratheons were leaning on their well-known name. They had led the last two wars and were riding on that fame. If nothing else was done the Lannisters were sure to surpass them. Not that Marvolo Baratheon appeared to care.

"I'll agree to a betrothal, and I'll agree to deliver her just before her nineteenth." He stared into Filius Lannisters eyes, challenging him. "I don't know what happened between your family and the Martells, but be assured if you hurt my sister I'll come there myself with fire and blood."

He could tell Harry meant it too. Harry Targaryen had never appeared menacing in any way before that moment, but when he vowed this Percy swore he was looking into the face of James Targaryen. A shiver passed through Percy, and it was then that he truly understood what the Targaryens school's mantra of "Fire and Blood" meant.

Percy had almost forgotten the grandeur that had once been the Targaryen family.

Filius was taken aback, but nodded. "I can promise you I had nothing to do with that occurrence. I will protect my wife, no matter who I am against."

It was then Harry relaxed, his features transfixing back to the face of a person who was twenty-one, skittish and realizing his place in life. "I am glad," Harry answered with a nod.

That made ties between the Starks, Lannisters, and Targaryens. Gilderoy Tyrell had just announced his sisters pending wedding to Roger Baratheon, binding them.

"The Freys are known for not being very comely, but I promise you we have a few beauties hidden in our mist," Percy announced. "We have Fair Romilda, and Alecto. They are both beauties in their own rights."

His father had been saving those two for something special. Perhaps this day was today.

"How old are they?" Arthur asked carefully.

"I believe they are fifteen and seventeen, respectively," Percy divulged.

"Hmm," Arthur mused. "I will bring this to the attention of my nephew. All he cares about is getting a beautiful wife. If he gets that he will be happy."

Percy leaned back in his chair pleased. No doubt his father would be happy with either his granddaughter or daughter as the Lady of Riverrun. Percy was to be Lord once his father passed. Despite his father's crudeness he had learned much under his tutelage.

"I cannot speak for my brother, and I cannot imagine what my brother wishes for his children," Roger spoke. "Merope is already fostered and betrothed to the Martells, as for Marvolo's two sons…." Roger shrugged. "My brother can plan that out when he wishes."

Gilderoy was once more on the receiving end of Appoline Tyrells elbow to the ribs. He winced, calling out, "I have numerous Veela cousins, all at or nearing marrying age. Gabrielle is almost nineteen, Dominique is seventeen and Victoire nearing fifteen. I also have a young nephew, but he is only three."

"I will think about my oldest son for those possible matches," Sirius mused.

Roger shrugged. "I can notify my brother of this to see if he's interested in Draco becoming betrothed."

Appoline seemed appleased with these allowances, setting back into her chair. But not without adding. "That still leaves Gilderoy."

Gilderoy strickened, his mouth hanging open unattractively. "But Grandmère," he protested.

"None of that 'orrid whining you like to do. Pick a wife. Zere's a pretty Frey still to choose from, and a Stark if I'm not mistaken."

Appoline's eyes challenged Sirius's. His jaw tightened as his eyes drifted away. "Ginny will not be leaving the North."

The Queen of Thornes was unimpressed. "Is Ginny too good for my boy?"

Sirius Stark sat up straight. "That's not it at all. Ginny has the North running through her veins. She was made for it. I won't take that away from her."

"Favoritism at its finest," the woman declared. "So your oldest daughter can leave ze North but ze youngest can't?"

Sirius Stark stared levelly into her eyes. "If you knew my daughters you'd know why one and not the other. That is final. I will not be bringing Ginny out of the North."

Percy had to be impressed by how well Sirius Stark stood up to Appoline Tyrell. Not many could say the same.

Appoline Tyrell appeared to move on, leaning back in her chair with a shrug. "I suppose you'll be getting zat pretty Frey zen. Just look at her, won't you Gilderoy?"

Her grandson nodded carefully. "Of course grandmother." It appeared now that Gilderoy wasn't so taken aback as he had lost the accent once more.

Percy couldn't be more pleased. Potentially two of his sisters would be married to Lords. The Gods favored the Frey family this day.

"What about fostering?" Percy asked, pressing his luck. "I have a younger brother who is interested in such a thing." Not his brother particularly, but his father. Amycus Frey had too many children to count and he needed to get rid of them all somehow. Hugo was young anyways, and cheerful. He would adapt quickly.

Sirius raised his hand. "I would be willing to take on fostering him. I have a young son that is eight years in age and appears to need more company to keep him busy."

Percy grinned. "Hugo is ten, and a playful child himself."

"Very well then," Sirius Stark agreed. Percy beamed. Nothing could bring him down this day.

"I believe that is enough connections," Blaise declared playfully. "All of us are connected one way or another." Throughout the meeting the Lannister and Tyrells had cautiously avoided the noctorius Martell. Their families hadn't gotten along in many years.

All of the Lords and men stood and shook on their alliances and betrothals, and it was so.

Marcus Thorne cleared his throat. "There is also something else that has come to my attention. We might as well all discuss it as we're gathered." He took a dramatic pause. "The Squibs are gathering. They call their leader a Lord and rumor says they're making their own school. The Squibs now have different weapons to fight us against. They have this thing called a bow... we can put up shields against it but they're cunning. They're starting to use it as a distraction tactic and attack us from behind with swords. They're learning. Quickly. Never before have they been able to take down the stone statues that line the wall, but they can now."

"What are you asking for?" Appoline Tyrell inquired with her known prickliness.

"Men," Marcus responded. "Strong warlocks that can create new spells to keep them at bay. We need to get just as creative as them."

Percy shrugged. "I can ask if any of my brothers are interested in such a thing." He was almost certain they weren't considering they would just become slaves to justice.

Marcus opened his arms in earnest. "That is all I ask."


	5. Chapter 5: The Cravens and The Un-Named

Chapter 5: The Cravens and The Un-Named

* * *

Castle Black, The Gift

* * *

Neville wished he had been told how bloody cold it would be at The Wall before agreeing to be an Auror.

Not that he had much of a choice. Between his grandmother and father demanding and telling him it would be for the best he didn't stand a chance. If only Neville had been braver, stronger; he would have been the head of his family when his father passed.

It was this precise reason he was told to leave. It didn't take much to bully him into compliance. A head of house couldn't be like that. He had to be able to stand his ground. Neville could barely piss in a straight line, let alone take care of a family.

At least this hellish training was almost over. Maybe he would be transferred to the Tyrell castle. He could even deal with being sent to the Freys. At least the weather was nice there the majority of the time.

The only horrible part about that was he would be separated from his friends. Bill Snow had stuck up for Neville since Bill had shown up himself, back when everyone thought Neville was a bloody idiot for joining.

Well, they still thought that. But there _was_ an improvement: they didn't say it aloud anymore.

Then there was Fred Grenn and George Pypar. If someone didn't know better they'd call the two twins. As it was they were of the Common breed, someone his father had always announced that as nobles they were above. But Fred and George were better at fighting than he was so he did not hold much merit to his father's words.

Neville wasn't certain where he would go once training was over. He had hopes, but dreams rarely interacted with reality. The only prospect he had at getting any say of where he was sent was through Albus Targaryen. About two decades ago Albus had been the Commander, but he had handed it over to someone else who had greeted an early death four years into his leadership. Commanders didn't live very long lives. Being an Auror was dangerous. As Commander you have to lead and be in the thick of things. Albus had claimed that role had tired him and he was ready to be on the sidelines once more.

Since then he had done much of the training for the new recruits. He placed Neville under his wing for some strange reason. Neville couldn't figure out why. He wasn't very good at much of anything.

Regulus Stark was another one of the trainers. He taught survival and basic skills, while Albus taught battle magic and defense.

But now Neville's training had finally come to an end.

All of the recruits were lined up on the right side waiting for the announcement that they had passed training so that they could switch over to the left, a graduate. It was the last chance anyone had to back out of being an Auror. Once the sacred oath was given a brother was bound for life. Some of the wizards appeared nervous, but a few were eerily calm. Bill Snow, Fred Grenn, and George Pypar among them.

Marcus Thorne presided over the ceremony, with Regulus and Albus standing on each side of him. There were three working castles that manned the wall and kept the Squibs at bay, and they were ran by the second and third-in-command respectively. On the farthest right, where graduates passed to get their wand notched, was Gideon Halfhand. When he first came here, decades ago, he was Gideon Tully. But most people forgot that part and Gideon never mentioned it. He had only two fingers on his right hand which rumor said he lost as a trainee to an axe by a Squib. Gideon Halfhand was second-in-command and ran Shadow Tower. Fabian Rivers was third respectively and the leader of East Watch. He was a coarse man, with a nose broken at least four times over. Bill Snow had once told him Gideon Halfhand and Fabian Rivers were half-brothers, but Neville wasn't very certain. Perhaps if he strained hard enough and squinted one eye he could see the resemblance, but even that was generous.

Neville wasn't sure how he had hung in there with such difficult training. Maybe it was because he couldn't bring himself to fail at _everything_ in life. Neville was nowhere near the best in his class, but at least he could claim he passed to become an Auror. They would call his name and notch his wand with the symbol of the Aurors, a crow. Then Neville would walk down the stage and to the other side victorious.

Normally by this time the men that knew they didn't have what it takes to be an Auror were obvious. It was a rare occasion when a trainee didn't graduate, but if you graduated that did not always mean becoming an Auror. If the trainers felt like a student needed more time they would advise them to train for another year. Training usually took three years, but Neville had done it for four. Albus had recommended last year to stay for a little longer.

Aurors were self-sufficient at Castle Black, their base and home alongside The Wall. They grew their own food, slayed their own lifestock, and repaired their own buildings. Every now and then the position of Healer was open. A Healer was required at each castle lining the Wall. So if one couldn't stand the shame of failing or were happy to stay they could always do one of those choices.

But Neville wanted more than that. He didn't just want to be an extra stable hand, or be shoved into the gardens to grow food. He wanted to fight. For once in his bloody life he wanted to be proud of himself and prove everyone wrong.

"Fred Grenn!" Marcus Thorne called out. "Auror. Row one."

Fred grinned, standing up immediately and walking up to the makeshift stage. He shook hands with Commander Thorne, and a spell was uttered to embed the symbol of their union. Fred had an extra skip in his step as he coasted down to the other side, happily sitting down in the first row.

No one ever knew what each row meant until the Commander announced it at the end. There were different amounts of chairs in each one. Usually after a trainee gained the title of Auror they were transferred to either one of the schools, sent to the emergency unit, or remained at The Wall in one of the three castles.

The emergency unit was one of the most dangerous teams. They were sent wherever things were the worst at. Right now they were stationed in one of the Common Folk towns, Rosby. There was a rebellion going on and it was their job to end it. Neville hoped he wasn't placed on that team. He wanted to be an Auror, but he didn't want to die in a year either.

"Hengist Halder! Builder! Row two!"

Hengist didn't appear particularly perturbed by this announcement. He appeared as always, a slight frown on his broad face. Hengist was their biggest trainee hands down. There was no competition for him when it came to brawn.

Now brain, that was another story.

Neville keyed in just in time to catch, "George Pypar! Auror! Row two!"

George would at least be servicing one of the castles on The Wall. Builders were not assigned to schools or anything else. They were strictly for the Aurors. At least Fred and George would see each other every now and then. When times were calm the Emergency unit came back to The Wall.

"Myron Satin! Auror! Row three!"

Neville remembered Satin very well. He had gotten off to a rough start here, like many of them. The first time the Squibs attacked The Wall he had pissed himself when the horn went off. He was lucky the Squibs hadn't managed to make it passed the stone statues that time, because more than likely he wouldn't have made it.

Battling the Squibs was how the trainees got their experience. Sure they had mock duels among each other, but that was different than something real. Their opponent was actually trying to kill them unlike the other initiates. There was no way to guess when the Squibs would attack. Sometimes they would try their luck a few times a week, other times there was no sign of them for months.

"Quirinus Slynt! Lifestock! Row two!"

Quirinus Slynt was a strange man. He had a stutter, which he blamed on falling off his broom as a child. He had his moments of brilliance, but they were so far and few it appeared the Commander wasn't willing to chance making him an Auror.

"Bill Snow! Auror! Row two!"

Neville had always known Bill would make it. There was never one moment of doubt. He was one of the best in their class, and many of them went to him for pointers and advice. He did have an advantage, the training he had received under his father's care. But he had too much of a gift to just leave it at that.

Neville almost missed his name being called, too stuck in his own thoughts. He blushed a horrifying shade of red, nearly stumbling as he walked up the stairs to have his wand emblazoned. He glanced at the Commander, realizing he hadn't even caught what was to be his row and job description.

"I'm an Auror, right?" Neville whispered, watching the smoke drift in the air as his wand was scalded with heat.

"No, you're an Unknown."

Neville's eyes widened. "An Unknown?"

"Yes."

He handed the wand back to Neville. He could still feel the slight heat the wand gave off from the trauma of the burn.

"Like, a good Unknown?"

Marcus Thorns face closed. "We'll discuss this later Tarley. Sit down in row two already."

He called out another name, clearly dismissing Neville.

Neville hurried down the steps, sitting down next Hengist and Bill. Bill gave him a small smile, worry in his eyes.

There were many classes an Auror could belong in. There were the Builders, what Hengist was to be. They mended The Wall and made sure everything was sound. Then there were the Farmers, who kept them all fed. The Slayers, who took care of and killed the lifestock that kept them alive and without hunger. There were the Cooks and the Healers, who were few in number. Then the Aurors, of course.

An Unknown, though. Those were rarest of all. As far as Neville knew there were no Unknown's currently within the Aurors ranks. They were used to do strange things, an experiment of sorts usually. In books the class Unknown was not even mentioned because of its rarity. They said long ago there were a lot of Unknowns, back when the Aurors were first based here seven thousand years ago. They were warriors, like the Aurors, but there was something that made them different from the rest.

Neville wasn't sure what it could possibly be. He was average at everything. He was sure his father would guffaw once he heard. His son couldn't even manage to be made into a category. One had to be made for him.

The last of the trainees stepped onto the other side of the stage, sitting down in row four. Approximately a fourth of the graduates were in his row.

All of them stood up as one, ready to repeat the sacred words that made them part of the Aurors.

" _Night gathers, and now my watch begins. It shall not end until my death. I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children. I shall not sequester nor run any schools, and win no glory. I shall live and die at my post. I am the wand in the darkness. I am the watcher on The Wall. I am the fire that burns against the cold, the light that brings the dawn, the horn that wakes the sleepers, the shield that guards the realms of men. I pledge my life and honor to the Aurors, for this night and all the nights to come._ "

They quieted, feeling the words resonate within them, and then sitting down once Marcus Thorne signaled them to. Albus Targaryen stepped forward, his eyes twinkling.

"Congratulations to all. Each and every one of you," Albus Targaryen announced. For the four years that Neville had been here he had seen each graduation. Albus always wrapped up the ceremony, announcing what each row meant and where they would be. "I'm certain you're all anxious to learn where you will begin your new lives, so without further ado." He cleared his throat, nodding to them.

"Row one, you all will replace the lives recently lost on the Emergency Unit." There were only two in that row, Fred included. Neville saw his adams apple bob as he swallowed thickly in a fit of nerves.

"Row two, you will remain in Castle Black." It shouldn't have been a surprise, but somehow it was. They were keeping so many of them here, which was unheard of. Most students were stationed at wizarding schools when they graduated, but it appeared this year would be different.

"Row three, you are being sent to The Twins." Satin grimaced, but took this fairly well. Most did not want to be dispatched to the Freys.

"Last but not least, row four. Your new home is with the Lannisters." There was only one person in that row, who Neville did not know very well.

Marcus Thorne nodded to them, walking off the stage without preamble and going back to work. A low, awkward clap was given to them by the current trainees watching and then it was over. Neville tottered back over to the stage, clutching at the bottom of his shirt nervously.

"What is an Unknown?"

Albus rubbed at his beard in thought. "Something new altogether. Something we could have a need for if you're able to do it."

Neville swallowed nervously. "And what is that?"

"You're amazing at Herbology, Neville. The best student I've ever had." Not that it was a useful talent. The only thing Herbologist were good for was yard work and gardening. Neville couldn't see the Aurors using him for something so useless. The last thing an Auror was worried about was how great their garden looked. "We had hoped to put that skill to use."

Neville blinked owlishly, unsure of what the Targaryen even meant. "How could I possibly do that?" he stuttered out.

"That is where your creativity comes in." Marcus Thorne walked over to them, a scowl on his thick, prominent brows. "You're good at Herbology, great even; but you're a mediocre Auror. You might survive. Maybe." He shrugged carelessly, as if he did not mind one way or the other. "That all depends on you."

"But-but," Neville stammered. He thought he had been doing pretty good.

"Shut that incessant babble, boy. Feel lucky that Albus Targaryen thinks there's hope for you. I wanted to shove you in with the Farmers and be done with it."

Neville's jaw dropped. He had worked so hard, tried the best he could to do what was told of him. It still had not been enough, not to get a regular Auror classification.

Albus smiled benevolently, a twinkle in his eyes. "I believe if given the chance Neville will flourish."

"What you'll be doing is a mix of Herbology and Auror tactics," Marcus began with an irritated scowl, ignoring his colleagues comment. "Albus suggested it, and I thought if it could actually work we could become unstoppable. It's what we need to survive. We have to outsmart our opponents, just as they are beginning to outsmart us."

"What we want you to do," Albus continued where Marcus left off. "Is finding out how plants can aid us in this war. Find new remedies for healing, new potions to make us stronger. We need plants to work for us, not just be a backdrop. Do you think you can do that, my boy?"

What he was asking had been attempted before, but not from this angle. Not only from the plant respective. But plants were what Neville knew best. If he had a chance at anything it was being able to conquer plants.

"I think so."

"Good, just what I wanted to hear," Marcus nodded.

Neville stared at Albus cluelessly. "What happens if I can't?" he asked in a moment of self doubt.

Marcus scowled. "You just said you could."

"But what if I can't?" Neville strained, his foot bouncing nervously.

"If you don't manage to make this work you will become an Auror by default, until then you shall do this," he answered tightly.

"And what is This called?" Neville mumbled.

Marcus Thorne grinned nastily.

"Tell me when you figure it out."

* * *

Unknown Location

* * *

Peter Varys dug his greedy little fingers through the handful of scrolls resting on his desk. He was happy to say it was all good news for his Lord.

The spies at Casterly Rock had been sucessfully placed, and with time he was certain he could win over the Tyrell family. Particularly those two scheming women, Fleur and Appoline. No matter, if he got Appoline on board he would win the whole house. His concentration should remain on her, as she was the grand prize.

Other spies were in motion too, slowly making their way to all the schools. Undetected as of so far. No one paid attention to the Common Folk.

"What fairs the news?" Bellatrix asked from behind him. Peter twitched, turning around and taking her in. Bellatrix came from the far away city of Assai. With wild brown curls that burned red in the sun and russet eyes she was exotic. The Dark Lord found her useful, as she was able to read future events in the embers of ashes. A barely contained smirk flickered on her face and she stared unblinking, waiting for his response.

"The plans are unfolding wonderfully," he announced, handing the letters over to her and stepping back. He always felt off balance when too close to her, as if he were a moment from death.

Bellatrix of Assai grinned, and the look was frightening. The madness, the undisclosed rage simmering beneath her eyes. Her teeth glinted, reflecting the flames in the fire place. She stepped forward, standing next to him to stare down at them.

"My Lord of Light said it would be so. You still do not believe me."

Peter did not argue. There was no point lying, she always saw through it.


	6. Chapter 6: The Announcement

Chapter 6: The Announcement

* * *

Dragonstone, New Valeria

* * *

It was a downtrodden Lord that returned to Dragonstone, unable to meet his sister's questioning gaze. He was a coward; he would admit it. He could not bring himself to be truthful with her, to tell her that he had sold her to monsters.

Abrahax Lannister had no true humanity. Everything he did, he did in the name of his house. He had no morality, no conscience. He would use her for whatever gains that he could, and Filius Lannister was not much better. He was a drunken heathen, more interested in whoring than anything else. Luna would be broken hearted. Was his family name and house really worth that?

Not without Luna, he realized.

"Harry?"

The voice pulled a wince out of him. It appeared his avoidance tactics had come to an end.

"Yes, Luna?"

She was frowning, her arms crossed and foot tapping nervously on the floor. "Ever since that meeting with the Lord's you've been avoiding me."

Harry ran a hand tiredly through his ragged hair. He was in need of a haircut, he noted to himself. It was growing a bit too long for his liking. With a grimace he gestured for her to follow him, sitting down on the nearby stairs leading to the third level of the castle.

"How have the Common Folk been?" Luna was with them more than anyone. Pavarti and Padma were only one of many examples, although a bit of an exception. Their family had always been loyal to the Targaryen's, for almost a century now. Ever since they escaped across The Narrow Sea as slaves and landed on Dragonstone as free men.

"They're doing well, if a bit hungry," Luna shrugged. It was not able to be helped. They did not have the resources needed to keep so many people. Fishing boats went out to scour the sea for food every other day, but it was still not enough. The House Elves were creative with the sea weed that drifted to land, making decently tasting soup, snacks, and adding it for more sustenance to other dishes. Harry was almost certain sea weed was in everything he ate. At least he didn't always taste it.

Harry took a tired breath in, a grimace on his face. "The meeting with the Lords went… decently. They still have not taken away Dragonstone."

Luna brushed him off, throwing a hand up flippantly. "They never will. They may take away our name but they would never take Dragonstone. Only we are crazy enough to live off of it."

Harry blinked, staring at her in surprise. Worded that way it made so much sense. The nobles would most likely never force them off this island. It was a dangerous one, and if they did not have a captain that knew how to navigate around the tides and other dangers more chances than not they would sink at sea. The floo system had been locked years ago after some prodding from Severus. Perhaps they could lead an armada on brooms but it did not seem very likely. For the first time since he could remember he was grateful for Dragonstone's rough terrain. They would survive, if nothing else.

"What did they say, Harry? You're hiding something," Luna pressed, hands bunching in her cotton spun, ivory skirts in anxiety. Mud was caked on the bottom of it, with a few stains on the bodice. It did not have any holes in it though, and Luna could always dye it a darker color when the ivory began to stain too badly.

Harry took a deep breath in. "I'm now betrothed to a Stark. I think her name is Katie, that's what Arthur Tully said. She's the oldest daughter of Sirius Stark."

"Stark?" Luna repeated incredulously. " _You're_ betrothed to a Stark? As in the, 'WINTER IS COMING!, Stark breed?'"

"Aye," he answered miserably. The girl was sure to hate him for Dragonstone's lack of luxuries, and if not that then because Harry was born from incest. Or even because Harry's father had burned her grandfather, or because of his older brother James had stolen Lily Stark and led her to an untimely death. There were many reasons for Katie Stark to hate him, and Harry couldn't bring himself to blame her for it. "And the Lannister's gave me a preposition." He stared into her eyes, looking deep into their silvery grey depths with flecks of emerald. He was reminded of his mother's eyes every time he looked into them. "They asked for your hand in marriage." Harry squeezed his eyes shut, unable to look her in the face.

All was silent. Not footsteps could be heard, nor the whisper of a breeze. No shouts from the courtyard or conversations drifting up from below. All Harry could hear was the pounding in his chest, suddenly too garishly loud for his ears.

Luna breathed out, disturbing the silence. "Why do you always listen to people? You don't have to, you know."

"But I do," he said miserably. "I'm trying to protect you." But that did not sound right, not after what he had just concluded about the Lannisters. "We're a poor house, from an even worse legacy. We do not have any choices."

"That is true only because you believe it."

He looked up, taken aback. What did that even mean? Of course he believed that. The Targaryens held no power. They no longer had one supporter from the great families. He wanted to improve, to do better and gain back their splendor; but when you laid down every night with a grumbling stomach and your thoughts drifting to the worst it was hard.

"People are beginning to call you Khal. It means king, or warlord." She laughed dryly, a smidge of warmth embedded in it. "Harry, don't you see? People love you. They care about you, and many would do anything that you asked. Anything. You don't need those silly, old nobles to support you. You have the _people_."

"They won't earn me anything," Harry argued, a bit taken aback with this new title he did not even know he owned. "We don't have protection or immunity with them. They won't be the ones that allow us to keep our name. _We_ protect _them_ , and I can't even do that." Shame filled him at the admittance. His cheeks flushed and he stared at the ground, his hair covering his face.

A hand laid itself flat on his back. "Why is that the rule?"

His head darted up, taken aback. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Luna said, beginning to pace in front of him. "That you're playing by their rules when you don't have to. We are Fire and Blood, Harry," she said with heavy conviction, uttering their school words. "We take what we want, and covet what we have. This place is ours, and we're all that's left of our legacy. Maybe we could play that game before, but no more."

"But our magick is gone," Harry groused. "Our dragons, our splendor, our army…." His voice faded off, distracted by a sudden thought. A bold one, innovative.

Perhaps they did have an army.

The Common Folk, they were witches and wizards too! They just never got the training the nobles did. They stuck to specializations: herbology, healing, charms. They usually only learned one skill, which was learned from their parents before them.

But if Harry trained them.

Harry stood abruptly, rubbing his chin in deep thought and ignoring Luna. Kreacher could teach history. He was biased but at least he got the gist of it. Besides, Kreacher was biased towards the _Targaryens_ and that made all the difference. Severus could teach potions, he was a prodigy at it. Their other House Elf Hokey had a weird fascination with poisons, and it would not hurt to teach a few people the finer arts of it. Harry himself could teach Dark Arts and Defence Against the Dark Arts. Not many could beat him in a one on one duel. Luna was quite decent at Charms, if she could keep her attention long enough to teaching a class.

He could always add classes later, when more people came. Maybe Severus would know some people willing to teach the Common Folk.

With this in mind, he went to his study to begin penning letters.

* * *

Dreadfort, The North

* * *

Ignotus Bolton eyed the letter in his hands carefully, glancing over it at his son Antioch Snow who appeared abnormally excited. Ignotus closed his eyes tiredly, organizing his thoughts before reading it once more and placing it down on his desk. Antioch was antsy at this point, unable to hold still for the barest of moments.

"What do you think father?" Antioch asked levelly. An attempt to hide the excitement he had already showcased, no doubt. Antioch's pale blue eyes stared into his own, slightly lighter ones. The curls on Antioch's head came from the whore Ignotus laid with all those years ago and died birthing him, but the rest was all Ignotus. There could be no doubt Antioch was Ignotus Bolton's son.

Ignotus grimaced, breathing in deeply and squeezing the bridge of his nose. "I think I need to review this carefully."

Thinly veiled impatience glimmered on Antioch's face, before quickly changing it to that of false pleasantness. "This is an amazing opportunity father, too good to be true."

"At the cost of what?" Ignotus's tone was biting, condescension clear in his voice. He gestured angrily out the window. "At the cost of our castle? The Bolton name? Neither which you hold, I might add," he said evenly.

Rage bubbled in Antioch's face. He clenched his jaw, responding, "We may never get this chance again. How many times have the Boltons rose against the Starks only to be squashed?"

"Who said anything about us winning?" Starting a war did not equate to winning it. Antioch had much more to learn if he thought that was how it worked.

"But our chances will never be better than this!"

Ignotus stood suddenly, his chair shooting back behind him into the wall and clanging loudly. Antioch winced, watching him warily. "Don't tell me about war, boy! I know all about those. My father was the last Bolton to revolt and he paid for it with his life. Before that my great grandfather, who also paid for it with his. How many more times will the Starks allow us to keep our name before replacing us? I've only just got back in his good graces by serving him well in the last war against the Greyjoys." He adjusted his collar, heading towards the door. "Besides, I no longer have an heir, do I?" He didn't turn around to see the expression on his bastards face. It was always one of two things when the subject was breached: childlike pain or sweltering rage.

His only son and heir Cadmus had died five years back, attacked by a group of prisoners that had somehow escaped the impregnable Azkaban. At least, that was what the report said. Ignotus was not so sure.

He was almost certain Antioch killed him in a violent fit of anger. He had always lusted after Cadmus's title of heir and his noble last name. It did not help that Cadmus was arrogant and given the chance would make biting remarks at Antioch. Nothing obvious, more like Antioch's station in life. But that was Antioch's greatest hurt so it was not too difficult for hate to fester. That, adding to Antioch's _proclivities_ it was not too much of a stretch.

Ignotus strode into the courtyard with Antioch trailing him, momentarily pausing at the unfamiliar carriage and rider inside his castle walls. A foreign soldier strode up to him, one with the Frey sigil of two stone towers with a bridge between them on the breast. Even the Frey's sigil was an advertisement. It was sickening. But he supposed it was no worse than his own sigil, that of a flayed man.

"Honorable Bolton." The man bowed deeply, addressing him with his title as a lesser lord. The carriage opened and a fat woman in a pink dress with one too many ruffles stepped out, a beaming smile on her face as she walked over to them. Her face was toad-like, but her eyes gave her away. She was more cunning than her appearance showcased her as. Ignotus arched a single brow, grabbing the letter with no amount of impatience and opening it.

 _The Dark Lord rewards his followers greatly. Please enjoy Fat Dolorus. She is worth her weight in galleons._

The girl stopped in front of him, giving him a curtsy and fixing the tiara in her hair that had slid onto her forehead with the motion. Ignotus remained unmoved, appraising the situation before him. Two soldiers brought over large, nondescript bags, their faces strained with the weight of it. He could practically feel his bastards smirk on the back of his neck.

"Honorable Bolton, it is wonderful to finally meet my future husband." She blushed, what she surely thought was prettily but overall a bit nauseating. His mind finally caught onto her words, taken aback.

"I never made any arrangements with Lord Frey." Usually getting a Lord's daughter would be an honor to a lesser family, but when she came attached with the name Frey…

Not so much.

"No, but the Dark Lord made it for us both. My bride's price is my weight in galleons."

Ignotus eyed her shrewdly, bending down to open one bag and staring stunned at its contents. He swallowed thickly, making sure to keep his tone even. "These are all galleons?"

"Yes, Honorable Bolton."

Ignotus frowned, his fingers skimming the tops of the bag. He had never seen so much money at once. He became contemplative, his thoughts twisting with uncertainty. Decision made, he tightened the bag closed at once and motioned for one of his soldiers to take it inside. Ignotus eyed Dolorus Frey with new interest, a half smirk forming on his face as he took her hand and with a bow kissed it.

"Welcome to the Dreadfort, Miss Dolorus. It is my greatest wish that you enjoy your new home."


	7. Chapter 7: The Lord of the Stormlands

Chapter 7: The Lord of the Stormlands

* * *

Kingsroad, The Reach

* * *

Filius Lannister glanced at his pocket watch and sighed. It said there were still three days left until he reached his destination: Storm's End. Per his father's command he was to see what Lucius and Narcissa have been up to, along with his grandchildren Draco and Morfin. Merope had been sent to Dorne five years back and he still heard Narcissa pestering her husband Marvolo and their father Abrahax about it.

Truth be told, Abrahax hated Filius.

He loathed the fact that Narcissa and Lucius were not as cunning as Filius. He hated Filius for always being able to handle whatever task his father handed off to him. It was Abrahax's dearest wish for Filius to fail, but he never did. It irked him to no end that his normal, unblemished children lacked in any way compared to his vilified, dwarf child.

Abrahax was content with Lucius. He was one of the best duelers in the kingdom, and debatably the best swordsman. It was a past time many nobles partook of despite its dangers. Filius was almost certain Lucius hadn't been beaten by a swordsman since he was sixteen and fought the famed Sword of the Morning, Cadogan Dayne, may he rest in peace. As for dueling, it had been a few years since Lucius had been beat. The last time he had it was against The Hound whose magic was unrefined but powerful. Nowhere near as strong as his brother's had been. Crabbe Clegane, The Mountain That Rides. Thank the Gods he was dead or else he would still be raping and pillaging the realm.

As for Narcissa, their father could not find any use for her other than a brood mare. She thought she was much more cunning than she really was, and was oftentimes found lamenting about her lack male anatomy. She was oh, so certain that if she had been born male she would be unstoppable.

She was decent with a wand, above average, but nothing legendary. Nymphadora of Tarth may be that one day. She was famed for her wand magic, rarely ever beaten honorably. Narcissa was nowhere near that level.

Perhaps if there was not a stigma connected to women learning battle magic then women would be better learned, but that was the only woman known for her skills besides the conundrum in The North that were the Mormont's. Their women had been fighting to protect their walls from Squibs that had made it over for centuries. But they did not do it for fame, or travel to show off their skills. People said they were good in battle, but rumors could never be trusted. If they could then Filius's mother was a grumpkin and he ate babies for breakfast with a slice of jelly and toast each morning.

Abrahax Lannister was domineering, to say the least. He had complete control at all times. It was not so hard to establish it with the Lannister gold mines and his reputation of ruthlessness when dealing with enemies.

Filius wondered if his father knew of the rumors about Lucius and Narcissa sleeping together. It would explain how every single betrothal of Lucius's ended in death of the bride before the wedding. Natural causes, of course. Couldn't be leaving loose ends about.

Filius would not dare bring them to his father's attention. He had enough ammunition already without Filius adding to it. If Abrahax could not figure it out by now then perhaps he was not the smart man he appeared to be.

Filius was not looking forward to uniting with his nephew Draco. Last he heard Draco was pulling apart little kittens for sheer amusement. Marvolo had hit him hard enough for the boy to go flying into the wall when he heard, but Filius was not sure that was enough to deter the little cretin. He was surprised Marvolo had not put two and two together yet, considering Narcissa and Marvolo's oldest was a carbon copy of their mother. Golden hair, blue eyes, and high cheek bones. One of her few redeeming qualities. That, and the love she had for her children.

But Filius would not get into that.

"We're passing by Haystack Hall in a few hours." Mundungus pointed over to the tops of the trees, where a slight hint of grey could be seen from the east.

Filius had found Mundungus at a whorehouse, fucking some exotic dark haired, blue eyed woman. He had been a loyal manservant thus far, although held onto a strain of self-preservation too strongly to really say he was the perfect companion. If Mundungus thought the odds were against him he would much more likely duck and run than fight his advisory. Filius could not hold it against him. It had kept him alive so far, in a world were Common Folk were nothing but mud beneath the noble's feet.

"Good, I suppose we'll set up camp then," Filius commented mildly. He turned behind him to look at Rosmerta. When he caught her eye she smiled fondly, her eyes filled with carnal promises of what was to come. She had been a whore when Filius first found her. She knew an abundance of tricks because of her previous occupation, one's that he enjoyed as often as he could.

Filius turned around, letting out a puff of air from his lungs. He smiled, staring into the sky serenely. "Today is going to be a wonderful day."

* * *

Storm's End Institute, The Stormlands

* * *

Marvolo Baratheon tapped his fingers impatiently on the arm of his chair, the hollow sound coming off the smooth wood distracting him enough not to take another gluttonous gulp of wine. That damned Lannister boy was late. The Imp, everyone called him. Marvolo liked to ask for him instead of Abrahax because he knew how much it grated on the old coot. Sometimes Abrahax still came, other times no one came at all. But every now and then he actually sent Filius.

He glanced over to Narcissa, her face emotionless. How he hated her, and she, him. Somehow they had kept together for seventeen years despite it all. She had this wonderful trait, where sometimes when she spoke the voice of Abrahax Lannister came out. Marvolo usually bellowed back something crass when that happened, or went off to fuck some common wench or took a swipe at her. He didn't want to hear Abrahax's cold logic coming out of her. He hated that man too, more than he hated Narcissa.

Narcissa's passionless face broke and a smile came through, startling him. He glanced further down the table to see her grinning at that little shit Draco. He wasn't sure how that monster was his. He looked nothing like his other two children. The boy was all Narcissa, an exact replica. Maybe she figured out how to fuck herself to create him. She was always going on about if she was male she would be able to conquer all the fools here in the Stormland's. Perhaps that was her solution.

Filius Lannister finally made his appearance, the hall quieting in his wake. He gave a short bow, nodding to the Lord in front of him. Marvolo snorted, shooting down the rest of his wine.

"More wine, boy!" he bellowed, making his squire jump. "Surrounded by Lannisters. Every time I close my eyes I see their blonde hair and their smug, satisfied faces." His squire was also a Lannister, some cousin of Narcissa's. Marvolo hoped he died in his first duel. One less Lannister to worry about.

"As eloquent as always, Lord Marvolo," Filius commented in an amused tone. Beside him he felt his wife stiffen.

Marvolo let out a bark of laughter, slamming his cup on the table and spilling it. He noticed with some smugness that a decent portion of it had slipped into Narcissa's lap. Her expression became stormy but she did not move. "Filius! If it isn't my favorite Lannister! Come! Sit at the table with us, I demand it."

Filius smirked slightly, pulling a chair out. "I'm not sure if that is a compliment, My Lord. I know how you feel about us Lannisters."

Marvolo guffawed even louder, commanding his cup bearer to fill both his and Filius Lannisters chalice. Conversation slowly began to start up again now that the spectacle was finished. "There's no fooling you, is there Imp?" He grinned, raising his glass to him before taking a deep gulp.

"I would hope not. I do not think I would have survived so long otherwise." That was true enough. Too many nobles wanted him dead as they viewed it as a slander against their personage for his very existence. Nobles did not like to hear they were less than perfect. Flaws were for the Common Folk. Squib's were a perfect example of that hatred as they were banished and word of their existence quieted with coin. "What is it I can be assistance of?"

Marvolo rubbed his chin in thought, a slow smirk growing on his face. "What do you think about all this hogwash that some Lord is rising up to become King?"

Filius arched a single brow. "You called me here to ask that?" It could have been asked in a letter, or someone else's opinion taken. He did not need to fetch Filius for that question.

"You've caught me. I just wanted to piss off your father by asking him to send you here. But I figured I might as well ask your opinion of this while you're here." Marvolo was fond of the Imp, and he didn't get offended by his brash language like the other nobles did. That counted for something in his books.

Filius smiled, but was stopped from answering by the arrival of his brother. It was another thing to lord over Abrahax Lannister with. The fact that he couldn't get his heir to settle down and take on his responsibility. Instead Lucius remained here with his sister and nephews, helping Marvolo to run his castle. "It's nice to see you, little brother. I wasn't expecting you."

"I wasn't expecting me either," Filius commented, nodding over to Marvolo.

"Here, take another," Marvolo gestured over towards the wine.

Filius shook his head, remarking dryly, "I learned long ago that it is considered rude to vomit on your brother."

Lucius let out a short laugh and Narcissa snorted with derision. "I'll take that as my leave. Do come visit before you go," Lucius pressed, departing with a bow. Narcissa's eyes lingered on her brother before becoming aloof again.

"Do I think that it is possible for a Lord to rise up and attempt to become King?" Filius asked, repeating the earlier question. His face became thoughtful, his stubby fingers tapping on the long table. "Human greed has asked for things much more improbable."

Narcissa snorted, eyes rolling in derision. How she hated Filius. She blamed him for their mother's death as she had died in the birthing chamber bringing Filius to this world. "We're in no danger from them. The rest of the nobles outnumber him. They will not allow some _ingrate_ to rule."

Filius' lips pursed but he did not respond. Marvolo, on the other hand, had no such qualms. "Which is the bigger number, five or one?"

Narcissa's nose rose in the air. "Is this one of your trick questions you use to attempt to outsmart and me and gloat about for a week when you do?"

"Just answer me, woman."

Narcissa breathed out tiredly. "Five."

Marvolo held his hands in the air. "Five." He wriggled his fingers on his left hand around. "One." The other he kept in a tightly locked fist. "One unified army. One united front. Do you think the other Lord's will come together as one for the greater good? No," he answered himself. "It will be five opposite, unblendable armies fighting against one unified militia. Do you think the Baratheons, Martells, Lannisters, Tyrells, and Starks will work together?" That thought was too good not to laugh out loud, so he indulged himself. The Martells and the Lannisters hated each other. They'd probably kill each other off before the fight even began. "And forget about the Targaryens, Greyjoys, and Arryns joining! The Targaryens have no army, only a sickly group of Common born pups swarming their castle like the pestilence. The Greyjoys would probably join him! The conniving beasts hates the lot of us. That Tully woman that runs The Vale with her husband dead. She's mad, I hear she still breast feeds that seven-year-old boy of hers. He'll never be a Lord, not a true one. She coddles him too much. And don't even get me started with the Freys!" Percy Frey wasn't so bad. It was his father, Amycus Frey, that was the issue. Who knew what that shriveled old man would do. At least he could no longer procreate. He hadn't had another Frey child in ten years. His century old balls were probably too withered to do the job anymore. Thank the Gods for small miracles. "Now get in bed, woman! You think too much of yourself to keep up with men's talk."

Narcissa stood up angrily, grabbing her skirts in a flurry and turning around to march out.

"Woman!" he called behind her. She stopped, glaring at him from her spot near the door. "Draco is to marry Dominique Tyrell. I'll hear nothing against it."

He had recently received the letter and was not against it. Dominique was fourteen to Draco's sixteen. Plus, she was a Veela. That would at least keep some of the boy's interest. From the zealous response he received back it appeared that Dominique would be sent over here soon to be fostered. It would be at least another year before they married. Having Draco marry a fourteen-year-old girl would not be sitting on Marvolo's conscious. Fifteen or sixteen would be better.

The woman shook with fury. If eyes could kill Marvolo was certain he'd be dead by now. Finally, she gathered herself; and with as much dignity as she possessed walked daintily from the room.

Marvolo finished off his glass, getting it refilled before he even had to bellow. His new cup bearer was catching on. Perhaps he wasn't such a dolt. He studied Draco, hearing him go on and on about how he had named his wand Wailing Widow as it would make 'many a' women widows' and snorted. The boy cowered every time during his dueling classes. He would do no such thing. Morfin was a little better. At least he attempted to fight instead of cowering in a pitiful ball on the floor.

Marvolo wished he could be like Roger, he thought to himself wistfully. His youngest brother did as he pleased. He had no responsibility to speak of. Even his other brother was not bound to land or accountability. Last Marvolo had heard of him he had gone to visit the old runes of King's Landings. He reported to Marvolo that there was something called ghost there and they were sentient beings. Whatever the fuck that meant.

He sighed, downing more wine and feeling a headache coming on. He'd fuck his wife later. When he was done drinking and screwing that pretty little common wench eyeing him from across the hall.

* * *

A/N: It's been a long time since I updated this fanfic. Honestly, I became discouraged by the lackluster response from it. But I wanted to finish it more than I wanted to delete it so here is the next chapter.


	8. Chapter 8: The Road of Prospects

A/N: Trigger warning. There is a mention of rape in this chapter.

* * *

Chapter 8: The Road to Prospects

* * *

The Crag, Westerlands

* * *

Marietta could feel the grime covering her. Underneath her nails, inside her shoes, the sweat that covered her skin and dirt that dusted her body. But it was all worth it.

Because she was free.

It worked better than she thought it would. She had assumed that there would be a few hitches, there were too many holes in her plan not to, but everything had worked out perfectly.

Marietta did not have a wand, females on Pyke were not permitted to have one, but she did not let that deter her. She had sneaked into the kitchen and slipped a knife into her sleeve. She had never killed a man before. This would be the first time. She hoped she had the gall to do it.

But to her relief the werewolf guarding the broomsticks closet had been one she had much hatred for. It had been Graham Montague on rotation that night. Just a year before he had forced her to mate, holding her down roughing against a wooden barrel and forcing himself inside of her from behind. It felt like it went on for hours, but in truth she did not know how long it lasted. She could remember the sound of flesh hitting flesh, married with her whimpers filling the air. His grunts and snarls, how he bit down on the tender flesh of her shoulder and spilled blood. It had dripped onto the wood and she watched as it spread and dripped between the cracks. It was something to distract herself with, and that was better than what else was happening. Then he spilled himself inside of her and left, whistling merrily as he went.

Marietta had been terrified she would become pregnant from the encounter. She had been fifteen, not ready to bring a child into the world. Especially not _his_. Her father wouldn't care if she told him what Montague had done to her. He always told her that was what females were for, to pleasure the males and continue the lines. She took a potion against pregnancy the next day, but she wasn't sure it worked until she got her monthly the next month.

It was easy killing him. She even relished it.

She felt her soul soar when she brought that knife up through the bottom of his jaw and into his mouth. Blood dribbled through his lips, much like hers had when he spilt her blood. His eyes showed astonishment, and the grey of the knife glinted from inside his mouth as she smirked so delightedly. Truly happy with this change in events.

"I told you one day you would pay for what you did to me." He had laughed at her when she told him that, and at the time she had said it out of hurt and anger. She didn't believe she actually would. Marietta pulled the knife out from under his chin and he slumped to the floor. He was still alive. Marietta would let him suffer. She'd had trouble walking for a week after what he had done to her, a few hours were the least he could do.

While she was flying over the Ironman's Sea she wondered to herself what Rabastan and Rodolphus would think of her. They were her true brothers, although from different mothers. They had died in the Greyjoy rebellion seven years back. It was no matter to her father as he had brought back Remus, another son to replace them.

But she had cared.

Rabastan she was certain would have told her to keep quiet and do her duty. She could be killed otherwise. But Rodolphus, he would have defended her. He would have made sure Montague never got his flea ridden fingers on her again. She was to be for her future husband, he would say. When that happened he would leave the protection to him, but until that day Rodolphus would take care of her.

She had been nine when they died, still a child. Only one man had tried to hurt her in that way when they were alive, and he had paid for it with his life.

At first, the men let her be. But by the time she turned thirteen they were beginning to show an avid interest. Once she realized she was no longer safe she had grabbed a green boy, one the same age as her, and told him that they were going to mate. If she were ever going to be raped it would not also be with the pain of her virginity.

It had not been pleasant, but it could have been much worse. She could not fault him for that. He had not known what he was doing either.

Flying over Ironman's Bay had been easy compared to killing. Once she got to land she followed the coast, only stopping to hunt and relieve herself. She stopped at a village, if only for some human interactions. She had been alone for weeks now and was craving it.

After burying her broom deep in the forest she walked into town. She stood at the side lines nervously, watching them from afar. It was different from Pyke. No one was forcing women to do their bidding. They appeared, dare she even say, happy? Every so often a man would greet or nod to a woman respectfully, or stopped for a conversation. That was unheard of. Why would a man want to know what a woman thought?

"Are you okay?"

Marietta blinked, twisting to look at the worried expression of a woman near her. She was pretty enough, with chestnut locks stuffed under a bonnet and warm eyes. Marietta realized at once this was a new world, one which she did not know how to act in.

"I'm fine, mum," she answered, tugging at the bottom of her shirt nervously.

The worried lines on her forehead remained and they stood in silence. Suddenly, the girl held her hand out. When Marietta only stared she said, "Take my hand. I'm sure we can find you some warm clothes and a place to bathe."

Stunned, Marietta could only do as the woman asked. She led Marietta to the edge of a village, in a rundown cottage that showed signs of attempted upkeep. The woman walked inside, with Marietta trailing behind her silently.

The stranger placed the basket on the table, grabbing an apple and a bread roll from one of the many shelves adorning the walls. "Here, eat this while I run you a bath," she smiled, handing the items to Marietta. She walked outside with a large pot, coming back with water in it and placing it on the stove. She pulled back a privacy screen to reveal a basin large enough for a human to bathe in.

"What stray have you brought in now?" and old voice croaked. Marietta jumped, not realizing they weren't alone.

Up in the rafters sat a woman, if you could call her that. From Marietta's vantage point she could see the hump in her back, along with the glint from the light in her white, sightless eye.

The woman sighed. "Grandmother, we must help people when we can. We have enough money to do so now."

The old crone watched Marietta with unblinking eyes, unnerving her. Marietta looked away, unable to bear the intimate contact anymore.

"Come here girl, I wish to tell you a fortune." When it was clear Marietta did not plan to do such a thing, she continued, "The last noble girl I gave a fortune to did not end up a content customer. She asked me about her future husband and the children they would have. I told her, 'gold is his hair, and gold are their shrouds.' She was not too happy with me after that." The woman shrugged carelessly, a hint of amusement on her puckered lips. "If she even remembers it. Her children are still in this world, as of yet. She may not remember until it begins."

"Until what begins?" Marietta asked, forgetting her nerves in her curiosity.

The crone smiled with toothless gums. "That fortune is not for you." She gestured again for Marietta to come up to the rafters. "My name is Morgana the Frog."

"Grandmother," the girl scolded. "It will not do to frighten her."

"Quiet Mafalda, it won't due to frighten off a new customer either. Besides, you brought her here instead of that nice little, warm castle you have that your father is so proud of. Forgot all about old Morgana, didn't you?"

Mafalda blushed, biting down on her lower lip. "You're always welcome to the new home."

"Nonsense," Morgana brushed off. "Do you think the Common Folk will come to me for business in that little upstart house of yours. The Spicer name is considered noble now. I'll lose all my loyal customers."

"You don't need customers anymore," Mafalda pressed. "We can take care of you."

Morgana cackled, jumping up and down on surprisingly spritely toes. "You all would love that, wouldn't you? To forget all your common roots. No matter, I never will. I'll remain here until my death day!"

Marietta eyes Mafalda with new eyes. She never would have guessed that Malfalda was noble. Her mind suddenly caught up with the conversation and she eyed Morgana suspiciously. "How did you know my father was a Lord?"

Not that many thought of Fenrir Greyjoy as one, but he was none-the-less.

Morgana gestured with open arms. "I cannot be telling you all my secrets. Now come, girl. Before I lose my patience." Marietta hurried up the ladder, remaining on her knees once she got to the top of the rafters. Morgana was lying on a bale of hay, appearing comfortable on all accounts. "Now what can I help you with?"

"I have no money," Marietta began. Certainly she would expect money to trade for Marietta's fortune.

"I need no money."

Mafalda sighed from below, appearing to give up. "The bath is ready for you whenever you're finished. I'll be heading back to the castle now." The door creaked shut quietly in her wake.

Marietta eyed Morgana suspiciously now that they were alone. "Then what do you want?"

Morgana became thoughtfully, turning around to pull out a cauldron and drop a nearby eye of some animal inside. A poof of unhealthy, grey smoke was left in its wake. "Tell me girl, do you know of the war?" Morgana stirred three times before tapping the wooden spoon on the side, bringing expectant eyes to Marietta.

Marietta's nose twitched at the horrid smell that wafted into the air. "Which one?"

Morgana's sightless eye shined. "The one that has yet to come. They will gift him a gold crown, and the blood that runs blue will merge into one."

"I don't have a clue what you're talking about," Marietta grumbled. She shivered as Morgana smiled. Her toothless grin was unnerving.

"Of course not, girl. You don't have the bits and pieces yet, but you will one day." She eyes Marietta shrewdly. "You will never see the Lord That Lived Once ever again."

Marietta took a deep, calming breath to stop herself from replying in a biting manner. "Tell me something useful, please."

"Very well," she agreed, as if it were a great travesty to do such a thing. "Long ago there was a potion. Many creatures of the night used it to calm their _urges_." She handed Marietta a vial, one she had filled with the contents of what was inside the cauldron. Connected to the stopper was a list of ingredients. "I think you can manage with that, can't you?"

Marietta became cold all over. Was it so obvious that she was a werewolf? She thought humans hated them, but Morgana was helping her. Perhaps Morgana the Frog was an exception to the rule. She was a strange one, after all. Marietta looked over the list helplessly.

She had never been taught to read.

No matter, she was good for at least a month. Perhaps she could get a potioneer to help her with the next batch.

"You need a wand too, don't you? There is a man who will give Common Folk wands. His name is Ollivander. He is not too far from here. In High Heart, last I heard," Morgana commented, scratching at her chin which sagged with skin.

Marietta's eyed widened in shock. "Thank you, mum. I'll be out of your hair in no time." She slid down the ladder, intent on finishing her food and getting that bath Mafalda was talking about.

Morgana cackled. "I'm sure you will be. Just never forget."

As Marietta flew through the unmarked forest she pondered on their conversation, but she still could not make sense of it all. The Lord That Lived Once? All Lords lived once, that was nothing special. She did suddenly remember her father's promise to the werewolves. Was Morgana saying her father would win for the second prophecy?

That sounded crazy enough that it made her laugh, and then she laughed again for good measure. She kept to the east, what Morgana told her to do before leaving. It was a five day's ride before she ran into High Heart. The town was situated on the tallest hill in sight, so it was not too difficult to find. When she got closer she saw something strange, the stumps of great, giant trees surrounding its base. What made it stranger was that they were all spaces evenly.

The town was a small one, but something there was something odd about it. The air was heavy, filled with static. All at once it felt as if she were unwanted. But she continued. Nothing would deter her from a magic wand.

Ollivander's was on the very top of the hill, the highest building of all. She rested her broom against the wall carelessly, pushing the door open.

She gasped as she took in all the wands. Long one's, short one's. They were thin and thick and every color of brown and black imaginable lining its walls.

"You're new," the wand maker commented. "I never got you parents wands, that's for sure." He had a friendly face, if a bit mischievous. White hair covered his head and his face was heavily lined. "You've caught me just in time. If you'd come tomorrow it surely would have been too late."

"Why?" Marietta asked curiously.

"Today is my last day here. I pack up my shop tonight and take it with me to the next town, Bitterbridge."

"Who would have minded this place with you gone?"

Ollivander's eyes twinkled playfully. "Why, this building would not be here tomorrow. As soon as the sun rises it would be in Bitterbridge. I have a schedule to keep, after all. Many witches and wizards need my services and they can't all just come to me. They're not so gifted to have Floo powder or decent brooms like the nobles."

Marietta's eyes widened in amazement. She did not even know that was possible, to completely uproot a building from one place and make it appear at another. Ollivander reached up to grab a medium length, black wand sanded smooth from behind him and handed it to Marietta.

"Try this. Ebony wood. Eleven and a half inches with the feather of a phoenix for its core." He handed it to Marietta, and after realizing what he wanted she waved the wand.

To her disappointment it completely rejected her, flying out of her hands and back onto the shelf where it came from.

"No matter," Ollivander told her, grabbing another wand. "Maybe this one. It's rowan with the core of a Kelpie's mane. Ten inches in length."

That one let out a few sparks. She stared at him hopefully but he took it away, ducking behind the counter and pulling out a lighter colored wand. This one was not sanded smooth, with its base thicker than the top. That would make it more difficult to slip out of her hand.

"This one comes from a pine tree. Six and three fourths inches long with the hair of a Thestral for its core."

As soon as Marietta touched it she knew this was the wand for her. A sensation of warmth spread up her arm, and a steady stream of gold came from its tip. She grinned happily, trading her animal furs she had collected from her hunting trips and leaving a satisfied customer.

"Before you leave," Ollivander commented with a grin. "I hear the last scions of Targaryens are teaching the Common Folk magic. Perhaps you would be interested in such a thing?"

The first thing that came to her mind was to tell him that was a bunch of bullocks. But then she thought back to the conversation she overhead in the last town, about a noble training the poor on magic.

She would have to look into this Harry Targaryen. If this was true he was her best bet in getting trained to become great and making her dreams come true.

* * *

The Twins School of Magic, The Forbidden Forest

* * *

Alecto Frey sat on her bed, packing her clothes for the long trip that was to come. She glared at a particularly garish dress in her closet gifted to her by one of her numerous sisters, deciding at once to leave it. She sighed, lying down on her bed and relaxing. Finding a husband had not been easy. Her father had for all appearances wanted to run their name into the ground. It did not help that their family had only been gifted with Lordship a little over a thousand years ago, making them the newest addition to the Greater Lord's roster.

She had nine siblings, fifteen if she counted the one's that had met an early demise. Hell, her oldest niece and nephew were more than twenty years her elder! The only person near her age to talk to was Sybil and Rita. Sybil was crazy as they come. Prophecies twist a person that way. Now-a-days even her prophesies didn't make sense, and she was always walking around with a twitch. Rita was too conniving for Alecto to trust, and much too into the day to day gossip. She always spun it in a different way, whichever suited her best, and the only thing a person could be sure of is at least half the story was false.

Besides those two there was Percy, who was heir apparent; Argus the Lame, who had a permanent limp from a duel that happened years ago. He was absolute crap at magic anyways. Alecto wasn't sure what had possessed Argus to accept a duel to begin with. Then there was Black Amycus Rivers, her father's bastard, and Druella the Maid and Vernon the Ass and his bratty little two-year-old Dudley and… truth be told, she had too many family members to list. The only one she ever cared about was Fat Dolores.

Fat Dolores was greedy and scheming too, but at least the two of them were both working towards the same goal. For some reason the Dark Lord favored Dolores more than her. How she had wanted to smack Dolores' smirking little face when she paraded around with that tiara the Dark Lord had given her. And then, when Dolores had no prospects because of her last name and lack of beauty, he had managed to get her a husband! The woman was already twenty-eight, practically a crone! Alecto had been so certain Dolores would die an old, unattractive, fat maid.

But their Lord had decided to bless her.

It was no matter, she comforted herself. Alecto Frey had beauty unlike her other siblings and nieces. Fair Romilda did not count, she had no worth. She had whored herself too much to get any type of decent proposal from a man. Alecto would be able to convince the future Lord of Riverrun that she was meant to bare his children.

And when she was able to bring forth a son, their plans would fall into place. Then she would prove her worth to her Lord.


	9. Chapter 9: A Tale of Molly Rivers

Chapter 9: A Tale of Molly Rivers

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Dragonstone's School of Hexes and Spells, New Valeria

* * *

Harry grinned as he watched the next load of students file off the trading boat, staring around them with new eyes. It had taken a lot of planning, but Harry had managed to accomplish his goals.

Dragonstone's School of Hexes and Spells had a full staff and a curriculum to follow.

It was as he had hoped. Once he had shared his goals with the citizens of Dragonstone, a woman stepped forward the same day telling him she had experience teaching transfiguration. After some probing he realized she did not lie and appointed her the teacher of that subject. Professor Rivers, as the students called her.

Harry merely called her Molly.

The next boat held two more teachers, one for healing and the other for herbology. He was lucky to have Poppy on his roster. They had not had a legitimate healer in the school since the last one had fled all those years ago with the students. Sprout had somehow managed to make something grow on this barren island. She taught both magical and non-magical practices, which benefited Dragonstone as a whole.

As for Harry, he had been arguing with Snape about teaching the Dark Arts.

"The Lords already detest you," Severus said in that caustic, monotonous voice of his. "You will only be giving them another reason to slander your name."

Harry scoffed, watching from his window as Professor Sprout showed the students the safest way to get rid of the prickly plants dashed haphazardly on Dragonstone's landscape. They had always been a nuisance, considering they could shoot spikes out at unsuspecting victims when irritated. "They hate me anyways. It will be no more ammunition than before."

When there was a will, there was a way; and the many Lords of Westeros had much will when it came to dismantling the Lord of Dragonstone.

"Sometimes the slightest variances can tip the scales," Severus responded dryly. "If you recall, I taught you that in potions. Not that you managed to retain many of my teachings."

Harry glared at him, retorting, "Just because something is classified as dark, does not mean it is. It's all in how you use it. The Bat Boogey Hex, for instance. That could be considered a dark spell. It is meant to hurt or cause harm to a person. But people don't think of it that way. It's not like I plan on lining the students up and teaching them Unforgivables. I just feel like learning the Dark Arts would be a better, more rounded education."

Severus watched him with ebony black eyes, lips pursed. "I see you have been thinking about this quite a lot, Lord Harry."

Harry blinked, surprised by the mild comment left by Severus. That mean he had impressed the unflappable man somehow. He would take this win happily.

"Never-the-less," the ostentatious teacher continued, dampening his mood. "I still recommend dropping the course. I will, however, no longer fight you on this."

That was the most Harry could hope for when it came to Severus.

The potions master left with a flourish, his black robes billowing behind him. Harry rubbed his temple tiredly. He could only hope a Charms teacher would show up sooner rather than later. As Harry had guessed Luna was too distractible to be deemed a suitable one. If Harry had the time he would teach it himself, but he still had his lordly duties. Preparing for winter, making sure there was enough food to get by, organizing hunting parties, and other such deplorably boring tasks that he wished he could delegate to someone else.

Down the hall he could make out Kreacher's gravelly voice telling a group of students about Targaryen history. Well, as of yet he had heard Kreacher speak of nothing else. Harry would have to remedy that. Even if Kreacher did not like the other families it did not mean he could ignore them. Harry's goal was to try and provide a well-rounded education, after all.

"Thousands of years ago the Targaryens were Kings!" Kreacher called out, his face completely animated and filled with reverence. Harry noticed the students were spell bound, unable to pull their gaze away. "They were powerful, like the Gods themselves!" That was going a bit overboard, Harry thought worriedly. "Even now," Kreacher whispered, a hand covering the bottom of his face spookily, creating shadows. "If you were to cast a hot or cold spell on Lord Harry or Lady Luna they would not know it. For they are elementals! They rode dragons like the wee little Lords ride horses and brooms! Only the Targaryens were able to do this feat, that is how powerful they are!"

Harry coughed, eyeing Kreacher to let him know the fanatical stuff had to stop. Kreacher's lips frowned deeply and he began to mumble to himself, mostly unpleasant things Harry was certain. The children eyed Harry as if it were the first time they ever saw him, newly found admiration in their eyes.

Kreacher straightened himself, taking on a dignified manner. "Four hundred years ago the Targaryens lost control of their dragons. It was what marked their slow decline among nobles," he said between pursed lips, clearly reluctant to utter something he found so blasphemous. "It all started when Wendelin Targaryen, nicknamed Wendelin the Weird for how much he enjoyed being burned at the stake, went across The Wall with their ancestral sword Dark Sister never to return."

At this point it looked as if Kreacher were a moment away from a fit. He eyed the nearby chair and reached sluggishly for it, as if Harry would not realize he was attempting to bang his head against it to punish himself for speaking ill of the Targaryens.

"That will be enough for today," Harry interrupted, eying Kreacher severely. "And no punishing yourself Kreacher. I told you not to."

Kreacher froze, staring at Harry with huge, glimmering eyes. "Kreacher is bad. Kreacher not only speak filth about his dearest master's family, but tried to break his command. I's must punish myself!"

"Even when that punishment goes against what I commanded?" he asked rhetorically. Kreacher tugged on his ears, pulling them down beneath his neck as if a bonnet had been tied around his head. "We can continue this lesson tomorrow, Kreacher. Or perhaps a different one? Maybe about the Tyrells?"

"Oh, I's can speak about the Tyrells, all right. The nasty, back stabbing, floozies! They's think they so much better than everyone because they's Veelas," he said darkly, the hunch in his back becoming more prominent as he walked out the door.

Harry forced himself to keep the amusement off his face. Kreacher was doing the same thing for the Targaryens, telling everyone they were better than the other families because of their dragons and magicks. The Tyrells being proud of their Veela heritage was no different. Not that he would point that out to Kreacher. The poor creature may have a heart attack from such a _radical_ view, especially from his own master.

"Class is dismissed," Harry announced, noticing none of the students had not moved. When they still did not stand, staring wide eyed at him, he decided the best course of action would be to leave.

"Wait!" one of the students called out, getting on his knees. "I mean, Lord Harry. Please, may we speak to you." He stared down at the floor, blushing madly.

Harry smiled softly, already endeared to the boy. "What is your name?"

"Andros," he answered quietly, still unwilling to meet his gaze.

"Well Andros, what is your question?"

Andros glanced at his peers, appearing to hope that one of them would take it from there. When they didn't he swallowed thickly. "We were just wondering why the Targaryens stopped being Kings."

Harry's face became blank. No, Kreacher would never tell the children why the Targaryens were no longer royalty. Not of his own free will. "Have you heard of my father?" he asked suddenly.

"Yes," a young girl answered softly. He realized she looked eerily like Molly, and could only assume it was one of her children. "My mama said he was mean to everyone and began to…" she hesitated. "Hurt people."

"Yes," Harry agreed. "And it is that precise reason we did away with Kingship."

"But your father wasn't a King!" one of them rebutted.

Harry cocked his head to the side. "No, and it was a good thing he wasn't. But he is an example why the Targaryens are no longer Kings." When none of them appeared to comprehend what Harry was saying he sighed.

"Every now and then the Madness Disease pops up," he lectured. "Nowhere is it more prominent than in the Targaryen family tree. There is no cure, there is no way to prolong sanity once the process begins. Now Ekrizdis Targaryen was one of the unfortunate souls to get this malady, much like my own father had. He began burning his subjects and sending his children on dragon back to 'bring peace to the realm,' as he liked to say. He was so certain there were plots to dethrone him everywhere. Finally, his oldest daughter, Dorcas the Beloved, brought an end to it. She realized the father she had grown up with and loved so much was no longer there, and ended him. After that she brought her siblings together, and they decided the best course was for there to be no King at all. That way the Lords had equal sway, and it would not destroy the whole realm when it happened again."

Harry paced back and forth, his face thoughtful. "Since then only two other Targaryens were born with the Madness Disease. Thankfully, one was a child when it began. For the greater good her parents decided to use the killing curse on her as she slept. The other one was my father."

He did not need to explain what his father had done. Most of them would know, and the ones who didn't would ask their peers and find out. Perhaps that would stop the adoration streaming from the children's eyes like snot leaking from a nose.

But they only appeared thoughtful, and grave.

"I am sorry for what your family has to endure," a little girl said, the one with red hair and clear blue eyes.

Harry flinched, taken aback with this response. To his surprise his eyes began to fill with tears. Harry cleared his throat, shaking his head to get a grip on himself. He excused himself with a nod, walking swiftly down the hall and away from the inquisitive students. But it was too late.

All of them had already seen how a little girl's kindness made the great Lord of Dragonstone cry.

* * *

Riverrun's Finishing School, Riverlands

* * *

Arthur Tully rubbed at his forehead tiredly, wondering just when his life had gone to the mad house.

That girl Alecto had appeared and his nephew Amos was besotted by her. The bloody boy gave her everything she wanted. It was ruddy sickening! She asked for lemon cakes, she received. She asked for a sapphire necklace to match her new sapphire earrings, she received. She asked to have the wedding moved up to next week as she could _not wait_ to stay away for another day from her beloved, and she bloody well received!

Then there was the Forbidden Forest that edged their land. There were not so many dangerous animals here as there were near the Freys home. Where the Tullys were there were only things like centaurs and goblins, sentient beings with an understand of the laws of men. There were a few darker creatures here too, but nothing those two could not manage.

Currently they were angry.

The centaurs were saying something about the Tullys decision had changed the fate of the stars, whatever that meant. They wouldn't even tell them what decision that was! The Tullys had made a dozen or so of them as of late. To go to the meeting of the Lords, to sow their fields a month early, to place a new guard tower up. Last time they had upset the centaurs it was because they decided to chop down some of the trees surrounding the forest for lumber. Who knew what it was this time. For all Arthur knew it was because he decided to piss in the bloody river instead of the privy!

Then the goblins were demanding more land. They refused to sell their goblin made goods to them until the Tullys did so. Arthur did not care for such things, although he would admit they made quality material. He had a sword forged by them. It was the best damn sword he owned. But he could survive without their wares.

It appeared as if the rest of the nobles in the Riverlands, including his brother Horace, could not.

His thoughts drifted to the love of his life, Molly. She made him a better man. At least she had before she left. She had given up on him, on all the promises he had told her throughout the years. That one day he would marry her, only give him enough time to convince his brother of it. That he would lavish her and their children with luxuries only nobles had.

She had packed up their things, taking their bastards with her. He hadn't cried in years, but he cried then. His four children, Roxanne, Rose, Hugo, and Lucy all gone. Who knew if he'd ever see them again.

He couldn't really blame the woman. They had been together sixteen years, their first daughter was eleven, and still he had not followed through with any of his promises. His words were like water in a river, flimsy and unsubstantial and easily lost.

Much like the Tully sigil of the trout, now to think of it. He supposed Molly had finally figured that out.

He guessed she finally woke up. He loved them all, gods he did, but he would never be allowed to marry Molly and make his young legitimate. But he had hope for his children on Dragonstone. That boy, as young as he was, appeared to have a good head on his shoulders from what Arthur saw in that meeting. He would take care of his girls and only son. Harry Targaryen would take care of them like Arthur had never been allowed to.


	10. Chapter 10: To Be A Stark

Chapter 10: To Be A Stark

* * *

The School of Winterfell, The North

* * *

Teddy stood on top of the roof at the northern tower, his gaze straining towards the vast forest of Wolfswood. His father and brothers were out hunting today and he wanted to watch them come galloping back on horseback. His mother would probably be throwing a fit by now. She hated when he climbed, and whenever Teddy disappeared everyone knew he was off climbing the walls of Winterfell.

There was a reason for it today. Teddy was angry at her. He had only found his familiar a few months before and she would not let him inside the castle walls. It was completely unfair. Cedric got to keep Fang, and his father got to keep his overly large, if a bit feisty owl Hedwig. He should be able to keep Aragog!

But no! According to his mother spiders were not allowed! Teddy should be spending this time bonding with his new friend. Instead, he was vying for him from the drifty rafters.

At least he could feel where Aragog was through their bond. His spider had recently caught something in his web, something large based on the vibrations. Teddy never liked to watch that part. It was always disgruntling to him to see bone and muscle and life turned into gushy liquid.

Father said Aragog was still an amateur, and he had a lot of growing left to do. But Aragog was already so big! He was at Teddy's waist currently. Acromantulas were rare in The North. They preferred moist, dense woods; not unlike the Forbidden Forest that began at the Frey's Towers and ended just before Riverrun's Finishing School. Father thought an illegal trader must have stolen an egg from a clutch and either lost it or died transporting it.

Teddy's eyes caught on a bunch of brown curls flying about down below. It did not take him long to realize he had spotted Hermione. Teddy liked her enough, and she certainly helped Ginny calm down out of her worst moods. Mother wasn't happy about his sister's friendship considering Hermione was a bastard. All they knew is her mother was Common and her father a noble. That, and she must have come from the Crownlands since her last name was Waters. All bastards with that surname came from there, just like bastards from The North were named Snow.

Teddy thought it was all stupid. It shouldn't matter whose parents were who's. All of them were people and all of them wanted to learn. Teddy had plenty of Common born friends. There was the baker's son and his sister's maid who had a son he often played with. Not that Ginny ever let her maid do her job, something which got her constantly in trouble with mother for.

He knew his father felt similar to the way he felt. Teddy had asked his father before and he had let out a loud sigh, patting his head and telling him not to stir trouble.

Teddy didn't do it on purpose. He was friends with the Reeds too, much to his mother's relief. Colin and Dennis were fun. Colin liked hunting. He was out with Teddy's father this very moment stalking down unsuspecting animals. Dennis liked playing more that his brother did, much like Teddy preferred too. Dennis would even climb to the lower towers with him. No one else would do it with him but Dennis.

And then there was Cormac Frey who had come back with his father. A new foster brother for him and someone to play with. Sadly, that did not appear to be Cormac's goal. Cormac followed Cedric around like a lost puppy. The boy wanted to be just like Cedric. Teddy wasn't sure why Cormac would even want to be like his older brother. All Cedric cared about was his hair and girls! Well, he cared about fighting too but Teddy wasn't too convinced about that.

He could see horses galloping towards Winterfell. Teddy hurried to climb down so that he would be able to greet his father and see what they would be bringing back.

To his disappointment, they had not managed to bring back any game. The cooks had to make do with what they had in the stores for their dinner instead of something fresh like they had hoped.

"You're so lucky!" Ginny whined. "You and dad and Cedric got cool familiars. All I got was stupid Pigwigdeon! Pig can't even fly right. Stupid bird," she muttered, pouting in her chair.

Teddy shrugged, scooping up some peas with his spoon. "He's better than Crookshanks."

Crookshank's was Katie's useless, fat cat. All she did was sleep and eat. Every now and then she would catch a mouse, but other than that she was completely useless. Not that Katie could see that. To Katie, Crookshank's was the perfect companion. Best of all, she didn't track mud around like everyone else's familiars.

Father was almost certain Crookshanks was part kneazle.

Katie glared at Ginny from across the table. "It's not fair father. Why did you agree to wed me to a _Targaryen_? Make Ginny go. She's a little beast anyways."

"Enough of that, Katie. I won't have you speak bad of your sister, especially at the dinner table," father reprimanded.

A slight blush grew on Katie's cheeks, only serving to make her even prettier. Teddy could tell Ginny was one second away from slinging some food at Katie's hair.

"You guys are sisters, and you're the only sisters you'll have," their mother sighed. "I do wish you two would get along, even for a moment."

Katie frowned at the table, appearing remorseful. "I'm sorry, I just don't want to marry him. He's barely considered a Lord. I always thought…" Katie trailed off, not finishing her sentence. Her eyes were far away, sure to be in that dream of hers where she married a handsome Lord that was young and kind and rich and loved her. He would be valiant and true in the battlefield, and always honest to her. Katie went on and on about this dream husband of hers. Teddy usually snuck off before she could finish. It was all quite boring.

"I thought Gellert Targaryen killed our grandfather," Teddy questioned innocently. If that were true he didn't get why his father would agree to such a union.

"James Targaryen stole away Aunt Lily too," Ginny added. "She died from an infection on the road."

Their father chewed his food slowly, his face thoughtful. Finally, he swallowed. "That is all true, but Lord Harry is not his father. I like to think I'm a good judge of character. The Targaryen isn't cruel or mad, just a bit lost. Besides, we should not let this fester for generations."

"Godric the Builder did the same thing to his sister," Cedric added, speaking up for the first time. "Back then we were enemies with the Baratheons, and that all but fixed it. I think it was a wise move for father to make, merging our two families."

Just then the new maid came to their table. Cedric's eyes became glued to her form, unable to look away and taking away some of the merit in his statement considering he was also betrothed but did not appear to happy with the situation either. Cedric was supposed to marrying a Tyrell girl. Her name was Victoire if Teddy remembered correctly.

Teddy nearly snorted out loud. Every time Cedric saw her he just about lost his mind. Her name was Cho, and she was from farther up north. Father said she had petitioned for the right to gain access to their school for five years, and father finally consented.

"But _you're_ not the one marrying him!" Katie whined miserably, covering her hands with her forehead in anguish.

"Enough," their mother said softly, but firm. Her no nonsense voice. Teddy knew Katie would get nowhere with her argument this night.

Katie stiffened, glaring at their mother unhappily. "I no longer have an appetite. May I be excused?"

Father paused in his chewing and nodded. She stood up immediately, her back straight and fists clenched at her sides, before walking briskly out of the room without looking back.

After that no one wanted to talk much. Ginny had no one to mess with and the rest were solemn. That night, Teddy pulled out one of the history books on Winterfell. Professor Bagshot had taught him most the things she knew about Winterfell, but this book was special. It was passed from generation to generation, filled with things only a Stark would be interested in.

"What is that you're reading?" His father cracked the door, a half smile on his face. Teddy turned back to his book. His father always checked on him before he went to bed, just like mother checked on his sisters.

" _The Starks of Winterfell_ ," Teddy whispered, flipping the page. The bed curved down with his fathers added weight.

"Ah, that part," his father murmured.

Teddy glanced at him. "Why did we change our sigil from red?" This was the first time Teddy had heard about this. He thought the Stark sigil had always been grey and black.

"That was a very long time ago. Not too far after Kingship had been abolished." His father cocked his head, pulling the edge of the book closer to him to get a better view. "We had no need for red. It was too bright, too cumbersome for the simpleness of the north."

Uncle Regulus came through the door, joining them on the bed. "Ah, I hated that book. Almost more than I hated learning about herbology," he grumbled.

Sirius chucked. "It is a good thing you no longer need to know this, little brother."

"That, it is," he agreed happily.

With a grin, Sirius Stark ruffled his son's hair. "Don't stay up too long."

Teddy watched as he left. "I won't." He turned back to his book, sitting in companionable silence with his uncle.

"I don't know where you get all this bookish stuff from, certainly not me or your father. Your professors had the worst time attempting to tame him. He was a wild creature, a polar opposite of what he is now."

Teddy could not believe his ears. His father, Sirius Stark, _undignified_? Uncle Regulus had to be pulling his leg. "You're lying."

"I am not," he said, clearly affronted. "When your father was little he used to chase his sister Lily around with the toads he collected in a bucket because she was scared of them."

Teddy held in a giggle, attempting to picture his father chasing around a frightened girl with a pail of frogs. It was almost unfathomable.

Uncle Regulus leaned down to give him a hug, kissing his forehead as he pulled away. "Bill and I leave back to The Wall with the new recruits at first light. I wanted to see you before we left and knew there would be no waking you that early."

"I'll miss you Uncle Regulus," Teddy murmured, saddened by this news.

Regulus smiled indulgently. "As will I. Be a good boy for me when I'm gone."

"I promise," he agreed. "Wait," he called out. "I have a question."

Uncle Regulus cocked his head to the side, waiting for Teddy to ask whatever was troubling him. "That thing around your neck. What is it?"

Regulus glanced down, staring at the pendant that had slid from beneath his shirt in surprise. He carefully tucked it back inside. "A ring. I got it from a friend many years ago." He puzzled over this. "He was not such a good person. I wonder what he's like now."

* * *

Castle Black, The Gift

* * *

Bill Snow coughed roughly into his hand, the billowy black smoke filling his lungs even more. He pulled his leather vest up over his mouth to block some of the damaging air.

"Neville?"

The sound of something wet and gelatinous hitting something solid could be heard. After a moment of pondering Bill realized it had to be Neville vomiting.

"I'm okay!" he called back once the noise stopped. The air slowly cleared until Bill could make out Neville's shape. He was leaning against a table, appearing slightly green.

"What did you do?"

Bill walked over to Neville, taking in the melted cauldron that was now a permanent fixture to its deplorable visage.

Neville grinned sheepishly, gaining some color. "It seems as though an aging potion will not make a Devil's Snare grow." He shrugged helplessly. "I got my hands on a vine of it and was hoping to make it bigger and cover part of The Wall with it. It seems as though it will have to grow the old fashioned way."

"The temperature?" It was too frigid up here for a Devil's Snare ever to flourish.

Neville grimaced as he rubbed his forehead. "I was hoping I could find a spell to make that part warmer." He glanced over at Bill. "I was hoping I could get you to…" he trailed off, taking in the impassive look on his face. Suddenly, Neville paled. "No."

"Please?" Bill pleaded, breaking his mask.

"No." He hurried over to the other side of the table, his fumbling fingers digging into the pile of random roots, flower petals, and leaves. "Last time I covered for you I almost got caught. Bloody Marcus Thorne was looking for you!"

"Please, Neville!"

"I can't do it! I'm not like you Bill," He pleaded for Bill to understand.

Bill frowned at the floor. He knew it was wrong to ask this of Neville, but he couldn't help it. "I'll get you bark off the heart tree in the woods if you do."

At once, Neville looked pained. One hand clutched at his while the other trembled as he carefully chose his next ingredient. "A piece of bark _and_ a leaf," Neville bargained.

Bill sagged in relief. "I'll get as many leaves as I can for you," he promised, racing out the door. He could hear Neville mumbling to himself as he left, all sure to be cursing himself for agreeing. It was no matter. Bill would try to be quick this time.

He walked over to Buckbeak who was in his stall. When his hippogriff noticed him he pawed anxiously at the ground, ready to get out and stretch his wings. He quickly opened the door, leading his friend outside before mounting him.

"Bill?"

Bill Snow froze, knowing exactly whose voice it was that called to him. Buckbeak had no such qualms that Bill had and he eagerly kicked at the ground, ready to leave this place.

Albus Targaryen's eyes twinkled in the moonlight, the barest of grins on his face. "You appear to be in a hurry."

Bill swallowed thickly. "Just taking Buckbeak out. He doesn't like being cooped up like this."

Albus nodded sagely, as if the tension that dribbled out of Bill's every pore was not so obvious and this was merely was a midnight stroll.

"I'm sure Buckbeak will enjoy his outing. I wouldn't stay out too late. I hear the next shift will be making rounds to make sure everyone is in their beds."

This happened every so often to ensure men weren't running off into the night to the town over to find women. Bill strangely realized this sounded like a warning, or a word of advice. As if Albus Targaryen knew what he was up to and was helping him to accomplish it.

It was a strange and tedious thought.

"Thank you, Sir. I'll make sure to be back before the moon rises high. Buckbeak will be pleased to be out that long."

The Targaryen nodded calmly, that smile still on his face. "I'm glad to hear that. Some of the men here have trouble finding things that bring them delight, but happiness can be found even in the darkest of places if one only remembers to turn on the light."

Before Bill could respond Albus turned around, heading up the creaking stairs and disappearing into the darkness. Buckbeak snorted out a series moody clicks, walking to the doors without waiting for Bill to tell him too. The poor creature had lost his patients with Bill.

As soon as he was past the wall that surrounded Castle Black Buckbeak broke into a gallop before flinging his wings out and taking off into the air. Bill wrapped his arms around Buckbeaks neck firmly, clasping them tightly together in an unbreakable grip. He had fallen off his back once many years ago. Buckbeak had managed to catch him before he turned himself into mush and the experience had taught him to not treat this as if it were some joy ride every time.

That did not stop the elation from buzzing through him.

He couldn't help it. Riding Buckbeak was so much better than flying on a broom. They landed in a nearby field of snow past The Wall. Buckbeak huffed, his beak rummaging through the tufts of snow in search of morsels. Bill let out a loud sigh, plopping himself into the snow, staring up into the star speckled sky.

He missed his family, but this place was the best for him. Especially Ginny and Cedric. He had always felt like he and Ginny shared similar souls, and Cedric was his brother. They were close in age, and as such their father had raised them together. Not that Lady Stark liked that. She had done everything possible to separate them.

At least Katie was the only one who really listened to their mother. Katie didn't hate him, but she didn't view him in the best light either.

"If it isn't me favorite Crow."

Bill Snow stiffened, head yanking back to stare at the familiar voice wafting from the forest. A light giggle surrounded him before Lavender stepped out.

"Bill Snow, the prettiest boy I know," she announced, meandering towards him. He sat up, knees crouched and ready for any sudden movement.

Being near Lavender always made him feel like he was on pins and needles. It wasn't that she was unpredictable, she could always be counted to make some flirty comment to him, he just didn't understand her end goal. What could she possibly want with him, and what would it get her? No matter how much he pondered over it he could not come up with a conclusive answer.

It troubled him.

"Lavender," he greeted, his tone wary and filled with distrust.

"Sweet Bill Snow," she grinned, stopping a few feet in front of him.

He gave her a nod, peering up at her. "Was there anything that you… needed?"

A frown marred her previously pleasant face and her arms crossed against her chest. "Why, do I need one?" She snorted, rolling her eyes. "As expected from a Crow. Bill Snow, you know nothing."

He glared at her, getting up off his knees. Buckbeak ignored them both to Bill's chagrin, much more interested in finding mice burrowed into the snow. "I know enough. If I didn't I'd already be dead."

That much was certain.

"Bill Snow," she reprimanded. "Can you not tell the difference between luck and knowing." She stepped closer to him, leaning forward and tilting her head with a teasing look on her face. "I'm Bill Snow!" she mimicked brashly. "I know all and I'm the best fighter on The Wall!"

Bill felt his cheeks begin to burn. "I didn't say all that," he mumbled, feeling like a child all over again.

She pulled away, a knowing look on her face. "You didn't? Are you sure? Your lips didn't but your face did."

Bill groaned, turning away and walking towards Buckbeak. He didn't feel like dealing with her. This was supposed to be a carefree ride meant to relax him and it had turned into anything but.

To his dismay when he attempted to ride Buckbeak the beast merely bucked him off, going back to his search of rodents. Buckbeak nudged him on the ground where he had fallen, checking for any scratches or cuts. When he found none he went back to ignoring him. Bill was certain he had never been so embarrassed in his life. It was only punctuated with Lavender's uncontrollable laughter. "Even your bird-horse thinks you need this lesson Bill Snow," she chortled, nothing like the silk cladded ladies he had grown up around.

"Why are you always like this with me?" he snarled, tugging at his hair in frustration. "I don't understand it! I don't understand you." He marched up to her, their noses so close they nearly touched. That stubborn look on her face did not waiver, if anything it strengthened.

"You don't know what I'm doing Bill Snow?" She arched a brow at him, taking a final defiant step so that their bodies touched. He could feel the outline of her breasts through their thick furs, her breath warm against his chin.

"No." The anger had ebbed away when her body touched his and much to his dismay something else was budding. Something that had to business here. "You flirt with me and do things like this. I don't understand what you want," he admitted.

A smile played across her mouth, eyes dropping to his lips. "Bill Snow, I thought you would at least know when a women likes a man."

He blinked, eyes wide as he repeated her sentence in her head in disbelief.

She… liked him?

It couldn't be that simple. Nothing ever was. "I mean it. What do you want? If you don't tell me I'll refuse to be your messenger. I won't be pulled into whatever games you're playing." He had left for the wall because of them.

Her face remained neutral, blue eyes thoughtful as they raked across his face. Her eyes trailed their way down his neck, not stopping until her hand reached out to his chest. A soft touch, barely discernable beneath the thickness of his furs.

But it burned, oh how it burned.

"It's very simple Bill Snow," she whispered, her gaze still locked on her hand against his chest. "I want you as my man." She pulled away, a rueful smile on her lips as she shook her head in dry amusement.

He took a startled breath in, fists tensed at his side. _As her man?_ He shook his head, closing his eyes to bite down on his lip. "It's never that simple. I don't believe that's all you want."

Her hands locked together behind her back and she rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet. "Why must it be complicated? You southerners make everything bigger than it needs to be. What else could I possibly want from you?" she scoffed.

He gnashed his teeth, searching for any type of conclusion. Nothing added up. She couldn't gain anything by this. Perhaps secrets of the Night's Watch, but she had no true need for them. Not when the Wildlings outnumbered the Night's Watch nearly five hundred to one. It would be a hopeless battle if they really did press to make their way across The Wall like they had been threatening to.

"I can see your mind trying to come up with something." She grinned, her nose scrunching up. "You can't, can you? You have nothing to offer me save for your body and mind, and that is all I want."

He cleared his throat, unnerved. "I made a vow," he whispered, voice cracking. "I can't-I couldn't-"

"Oliver Rayder made a vow," she interrupted. "So did Craster and a bunch of other men. That vow means nothing Bill Snow."

"It means something to me."

She eyed him, taking in his posture and body language. When she finished she smirked. It couldn't have been too hard to read what he really wanted, not with his body as tense as it was.

She stepped up again, placing both hands against his stomach before interlocking her hand with his and dragging him into the forest. Buckbeak watched from his vantage point, his expression bored, munching on a rat he had managed to find.

"Where are you taking me?"

He could break her grip on him any moment. It would be too easy. She was a strong woman, feisty, but Bill still had the upper hand in strength. No matter how much he told himself this he could not manage to act on his words.

"I'm letting you steal me Bill Snow, like the free folk do."

He swallowed thickly, watching the hair on the back of her hair sway. Lavender was a hole he had fallen into, a hole he didn't want to climb out of. It was horrifyingly wonderful. And he wanted her, so he would take her. Just like the free folk do.


	11. Chapter 11: Distrust

Chapter 11: Distrust

* * *

Dragonstone's School of Hexes and Spells, New Valeria

* * *

Harry Targaryen watched as the tide brought in the new ship filled with people and goods for trading. He followed the downward path to the docks, nodding at each person he met with a slight smile. He had never truly felt like a Lord, not until now. People looked up to him, and it was an amazing feeling. He almost felt as if he were gaining back some of that Targaryen name, when it had been a good thing to be one. Before he was born and Dragonstone was the most prestigious of schools, where people left their own Lord's to join and be educated by his ancestors.

He did not expect any of that to happen soon, but maybe eventually, a few generations from now, being a Targaryen would not have a stigma attached to it.

The people didn't appear to care what his father had done. At least, they didn't hold it against him or mention it. That was more than the Lord's ever did. Every time they met up, each time they corresponded, they alluded to it. They enjoyed throwing it in his face. It was a shame he could never escape.

He no longer cared what the nobles thought. Even if they took away his nobility he would continue what he had begun months ago. He had a purpose now, and it meant the world to him. He had bigger goals. No longer did he merely wish to skate by and survive. He wanted to grow, and to prove to people he was not his father.

However, all of this did not stop Luna's betrothal, nor his own.

He could deal with his wife hating him. She could do as she pleased, whatever she could find to make herself happy. But Luna leaving Dragonstone was a problem. Last he had heard Filius wasn't even heir. He was sure that Lucius Lannister meant it as some type of insult to force the last female Targaryen to marry for less when the Lord's true heir was unwed, but perhaps this was best.

He did not know Filius well, only his reputation: one of whoring and loquacious remarks. He was not an idiot, Harry could read that much from their brief meeting in King's Landing. Perhaps he could convince Filius to live here on Dragonstone. It was better for the wedding to not happen at all. He couldn't see Luna being happy with Filius. He was at least fifteen years her elder and she was a romantic at heart. Filius bedding every willing female that met his eyes would hurt her, and he couldn't have that.

He still had a few years to work this out, he would figure out a solution that made everyone happy.

"Lord Harry!" Captain Rolanda Hooch called out, a valuable trader that often came to Harry's nearly desolate island. If it wasn't for her there would barely be any commerce flow. Harry was forever thankful for her, especially knowing the difficulties in navigating the sea around Dragonstone.

He took her hand in his, patting her on the back as she pulled him in for a hug. "What have you brought me this time?"

She laughed, her shorn grey hair ruffling from the sea breeze. "People from across The Narrow Sea along with goods."

Harry eyed the weary bodies stumbling off the gang plank. They might be tired in body, but their eyes were sharp and alert. He noticed it was mostly women and children, with a few men dashed here and there.

They were Dotharki from what Harry could tell, having similar features to Padma and Pavarti. The two girls had never voiced a wish to return to their people, but they spoke of what their life was like before being turned into slaves and sold to Harry, then freed. Maybe the addition of Dotharki would liven their spirits.

Rolanda nudged Harry, pointing out an elderly man with sharp brows an a callous expression in his eyes. A cape was wrapped around him and his beady eyes darted about too much to make Harry comfortable. "Be careful with that one," she murmured. "He hasn't exactly done anything wrong, but he's a shifty one. My crew gave him the nickname Herpo the Foul. That's his first name, not really sure about his last." She scratched her head, yellow eyes squinting in the sunlight. She gave Harry one last pat on the shoulder's before heading over to help her crew unload the goods.

"Eh, hem," a voice coughed. Harry frowned, reluctantly taking his eyes off the strange man to look at a woman with black hair in a bun with a sharp widows peak. An overly large nose graced her face, making what could have been a pretty face unfortunate. "My name is Eileen. I assume you've been told of my arrival."

Harry blinked, rubbing at his chin as he ran through all the missives and notes he had received recently. Nothing came to mind. "I'm sorry ma'am, but I am unsure what you speak of." He gave her an apologetic look, giving her a nod of respect.

Her frown deepened, if that was possible. "Of course my son did not tell you. He likes his secrets, always has." She cleared her throat. "I am Eileen Baelish. My son has been working for you for years, Severus?"

Harry's jaw dropped, finally placing the familiar features. She was older, but the resemblance was there. "I-I am glad to meet you. Your son has been such a wonderful addition to my faculty."

She nodded as if that was a given, picking up the simple leather bag she had placed at her feet and began the trek up to the castle. Harry hurried to catch up with her. "It's a shame. I've always pressed him to marry, but he's a romantic fool. Says he already met the love of his life and there will be no other."

Harry cleared his throat uncomfortably, wondering if she knew the woman he had fallen in love with was his own mother. Not likely, based on the scorn decorating her face. "I'm sure he'll marry one day."

"He must," she insisted. "I've been taking care of our land since his father passed twenty years ago. Severus is my only son, I can't have any other. Our legacy rest on him. We have no cousins to inherit. He wrote me asking for help filling the Charms position, but I couldn't help but also hope to take care of my own personal issues while here."

"Being?" Harry asked, his tone carefully controlled.

Her nose bunched, eyes narrowed in stunned disbelief. "Marrying off my son!" she barked.

Harry winced as he took a step away from her. Perhaps this was why Severus did not often mention his mother. She was a bit overbearing, her countenance stern. Overall, he hoped to avoid her as much as possible during her stay, not that it would be easy with her becoming the Charms teacher. At least he didn't have to worry about that subject anymore.

"Mi'lord," a thick voice murmured from his left. He gave a nod to Eileen Baelish and turned to the stout man. The very man he had been warned to be wary of. "I have a gift for you."

Harry tensed, unsure what the man could possibly want. He wouldn't want to hurt him, could he? Harry was disliked among nobility but he didn't think it was to that level. "Ah," he stalled, making sure there was a gap between them. "You don't have to."

"I insist. This gift is for you at any rate. Only you and your family could possibly find it useful."

The only thing the Targaryen's had were elemental abilities, but even that had waned. All Luna and Harry could do was make sure they were not burned or frozen to death. All of their other power, like actually being able to move and create heat and cold, had disappeared when the knowledge began to wane.

The man opened his cloak to reveal a plain wooden crate with rusted hinges. He held the box up to him. "Take it, Mi'lord."

Harry reached out for it, holding the top firmly down. He gave the box a slight shake and the things inside jiggled. "What is it?"

Herpo the Foul gave him a waning smile. "Open it and see, Mi'lord."

Harry frowned, giving the box one more good shake before slowly pulling the top open. When nothing happened after the first inch he yanked it open, ready to throw it if necessary. He blinked at the objects, head cocking to the side as he traced the circular ridges.

They were dragon eggs.

Herpo cleared his throat. "There is also a journal beneath them," he pointed out. "Read it when you have the time, Mi'lord. I'll admit it is an interesting read."

He pulled the papers bound together with simple twine. A faceless book with barely legible writing met his eyes. "What is it you want for these?"

Not that Harry could afford the price. Dragonstone was not rich by any means.

"Only for you to remember me when you come to power."

Harry eyed the man with distrust. "Only that?" Not that it would ever happen. Perhaps the man had some form of Madness Disease.

Herpo shrugged. "Across the seas things are different. The people know what you're doing for them and they're grateful. The Dothraki here are even beginning to call you Khal, one of the highest titles in their society. There are people of old, who remember the Targaryen's. How the Prince of Charms was murdered and left only a blight to the world. We remember, we have not forgotten."

Harry did not care to ponder over his words, not when there were dragon eggs in front of him. They were cool to the touch. Petrified, if Harry could tell. No true worth to him other than their sentimental value and what these eggs had once meant to his family. "Thank you, sir. You've-"

He cut himself off. The man had disappeared.

* * *

The School of Winterfell

* * *

Sirius Stark eyed the girl that stood before him. Her eyes remained glued to the ground yet her body language was not complacent or timid. They appeared to merely rest there out of respect, not any type of submissiveness on her part.

"I trust you're settling in well?"

"Yes, Mi'lord."

He waited for her to explain but no further words punctuated the air. Sirius cleared his throat, giving her a minute nod. "That was all I wanted to check on. You may go back to Hebzibah in the kitchens now."

She bowed her head and walked out of the room. As soon as she left Sirius sighed, rubbing his forehead. He hoped he made the right decision allowing her to work in the castle. The smart thing would have been to refuse her, but her tenacity had let her in. Five years she petitioned him.

Now there was a wilding in the castle.

She seemed tame enough. Perhaps she did not like the life she had north of The Wall. It was a harsh one, and snow always lay on the ground no matter the season.

If some of his vassals found out they wouldn't like it. The North had been fighting off Wildlings for so long they could not remember any other way of life. But Cho seemed promising, willing to bend when needed. More importantly nothing in her eyes made him nervously. She appeared content to be in the castle and had no hidden vendetta.

"Lee," he murmured, calling one of his guards. He had graduated the year before and his father was a vassal of his, an Umber.

"My Lord?" he inquired.

Sirius gestured with his head towards the door. "Find out what she's up to. I want a full report."

One could never be too safe. Especially with his sons interest piqued in her.


End file.
